Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Get up!”

You stared up at the clear blue sky, trying not to panic even though it seemed your lungs forgot how to work. The air rushed from them when you slammed into the ground, and for several horrifying moments, you didn't think they’d re-inflate.

A large hand loomed before you, one you knocked away as hard as you could. A faint rumble of laughter rippled tough the others gathered around and you heard your name muttered more than once. As always, you ignored it. They weren’t going to get to you. Let them laugh and jeer. You didn’t care.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

“On your feet, lass.”

You sat up with a groan and slowly managed to get your feet as your lungs filled once more and you could breathe. You glared at the dwarf responsible for taking your feet out from under you. He was bigger than the other dwarves. Bigger. Broader. The kings grandson. No one would knock Thorin’s butt in the dirt. They wouldn’t dare. 

But you would in a heartbeat. Some day.

“Do you need a minute?” Thorin’s blue eyes danced with amusement as he faced you. “Or do you wish to save us both the trouble and simply go on home now?”

“I need no time and I am not leaving until we are dismissed,” you growled back. All you wanted to do was wipe that arrogant smirk from his face and you would do it. Not today or perhaps not even tomorrow, but you would. You were determined to, no matter how hard you had to work at it or how long it took you. He didn't scare you. 

“Are you certain? You look very… winded.”

“Why are you so concerned?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you afraid of being bested by a girl?”

The others grew quiet, while Thorin smirked. “You’ll forgive me for laughing, of course.”

You glared at him, but when you found yourself paired off with him once more, you spent even more time on your back, staring up at the high blue sky, promising Mahal that if he let you breathe again, Thorin would be on his back next time.

It never happened.

Summer ground on, hot and sticky and day after day, you faced off with the boy who would one day be your king. And day after day, he bested you. The jeers of the others rang in your ears, the dirt ground into your skin seemed harder to wash off, you didn't even know bones could bruise until the day you lost your footing and slammed down hard onto the rocky outcropping where Master Debec insisted you all practice to experience battle on rocky and uneven terrain. 

You limped home that night, fresh bruises on your body, the backs of your hands cut and bleeding, your side on fire from what you thought might be a broken rib. As you washed by the fire, sucking in a sharp breath with each hot sting as the damp rag passed over an open scrape, your father said, “Perhaps you need to admit this is beyond your capabilities, mimûna. There is no shame in that.”

“I will not give up, ’Adad,” you told him, letting the rag sink into the bottom of the bowl filled with rust-colored water. You were ready for sleep, with only a bit of water splashed on your chemise. “And let Thorin Durin think he is better than me? Let him think he is right? I cannot allow that, you know I can’t.”

Your father sank onto the arm of the chair, his eyes tranquil, his expression the same. “As long as you know that he isn’t, who cares what the others think?”

“I do know it. And I know I shouldn’t care, but I do. They already see me as inferior as I am not full-blooded dwarf, as if being part Man somehow makes me less. They are no better than elves, you know.”

You sighed as you turned away. You didn't want your father to see you cry. You hated crying, hated anything that would make anyone see you as weak. Besides, how could he possibly know what it was like for you, not fitting in no matter what world you visited? In Erebor, you were constantly reminded you were of Man. In Dale, you were looked upon as a dwarf. Neither people shunned you, but neither welcomed you, either. He tried to make up for it, tried to make certain you knew your worth and that you knew it lay not in your blood, but your character. 

But when it came down to it, you wanted to prove your worth. To Master Debec. To the other dwarves with whom you trained. But most of all, to Thorin. If he saw it, the others would as well. You might not be a full-blooded dwarf, and perhaps your own mother had chosen to simply leave you with our father and forget you even existed, but you never saw yourself as less than the dwarves with whom you’d been raised. Erebor was your home. These were your people. You’d alway seen yourself as one of them. Now, you wanted them to see it as well, to accept it. 

“Take care, mimûna,” your father said, rising from the chair arm to come over and press a kiss into the top of your head. “I do not wish to see you hurt any more.”

“I will be fine, ’Adad,” you said, even as the burn flared in your side. You’d grown so accustomed to hiding the pain that even your father, who knew you better than anyone in Erebor, would never guess. 

He retreated into his bedroom and you into yours and as you lay beneath the light sheet, you did as you did every night, and whispered into the darkness, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the day.”

Whump!

The air rush from your body in mighty wave, your, “Whooof!” weak and thready.

“Are you ready to give up yet, lass?”

You glared at Thorin. “What do you think?”

Your entire body ached, your muscles almost trembling from the fatigue that burned them almost into ash. Your sword lay on the ground, several feet from where you landed and Master Debec just shook his head. “I think that’s enough for today, lads,” his blue-eyed gaze alit on you, “lass.”

You dusted yourself off as best you could. Training took place thankfully on flat ground today, but you were still covered in your usual layer of dust and dirt and leaf bits. The others dispersed, but Thorin stood there, arms folded, and just stared at you with piercing blue eyes that offered no insight into what he thought.

“Why are you looking at me? Leave me alone.” you finally asked, limping to the stone wall to sink onto it, where you rubbed your sore knee. You looked up to find him not more than two feet from you, still just watching you. You scowled. “Go. Away.”

“Why do you keep coming back? Do you like being thrown about like a sack of potatoes?”

“I get better each day and the time will come, Thorin Durin, when I knock you in the dirt. Mark my words.”

“No,” he shook his head, “it won’t. You are too small. Too small. Too slight.”

“Do not let my size offer you a false sense of security. You will see.”

“I’m sure I will. Of course by then, I’ll probably be old and frail and that will be the only reason you ever get me flat on my back.”

You struggled to come up with a scathing retort, something that would make him wince. But your mind went blank and as you tried to shove something to your tongue, he turned and began the trek up the hill back to Erebor.

“You are a coward, you know!” 

The wind carried your words clear up the hill, where they reached his ears. He stopped, turned to peer over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

Despite the dull throb in your left knee, you pushed yourself up from the wall. “You heard me. You choose to square off with me each day because you know you can best me. And you think that makes you a mighty warrior. You choose me because you see me as weak.”

“You are weak,” he replied calmly.

“So what does that say about you?”

He came back down the hill toward you, his eyes swirling with irritation now. “I beg your pardon again?”

“You know exactly what I said, and you know I speak the truth. You cannot best the others, so you choose me. You, sir, are a coward.”

“If I were you,” he growled, a muscle bulging along his bearded jaw, “I would stop talking right now.”

“I am not afraid of you.” You slid your sword from its scabbard. “And you know it.”

“You do not want to do this.”

“Of course I do.”

He slid his own sword free. “You must like the taste of dirt, mimûna, for you spend all of your time in it.”

“Do not call me that.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

You said nothing, but charged. He blocked, your blades meeting with a resounding clang that rang out through the courtyard. The vibration tore along your arms, hurt your wrists and hands because he was not playing. He’d swung with all the strength he could muster, which was saying something. He was, of course, far taller and far broader than you, with far more muscle than you would ever have. 

He lunged and this time, you swung your blade down to block him. He jerked his wrists to bring his blade up and the force sent your sword flying. It threw off flashes of light as it spun through the dappled sunlight, then hit the ground with a dull thud, sending up a cloud of reddish-brown dust swirling in all directions. 

“You should rethink the wisdom of your decisions, mimûna.” His voice was calm as he re-sheathed his sword and turned to walk away. “You will only end up getting killed one day.”

You stared at your sword, then at his retreating form, and with a frustrated cry, you launched yourself at him. You landed on his back and wrapped your arms about his neck. 

“What the…” he sputtered, spinning about in an attempt to dislodged you.

You only tightened your hold on him, your cheek pressed into the long, nearly black curls that spilled down his back. You ignored the sting of whatever ornament he’d had woven into those curls as it bit into that same cheek. You didn’t care. You were taking the future king down if it killed you.

“Let go… get… Mahal, what is your problem?”

“You! You are my problem and I will not be thought of as weak because I am small.”

He whipped about and you chose that moment to loosen your hold. You slid down his back, wrapped your legs about his knees, and tightened your hold on his hair. He let out a howl and you both slammed into the ground. He landed square on you, but you were more than used to it and in a flash, managed to flip him off you, face down, and you came down hard against him for a change. 

You grabbed a handful of that thick hair, grabbed and twisted and held on, pushing down to grind his cheek into the dirt, the leaves, to let him know what it felt like to have someone pin you down and hold you there.

“Get off me.”

“No.”

He managed to free an arm from beneath him, braced himself, and shoved up and back. You slammed into the ground, a sharp rock biting into your back as he straddled your hips, grabbed your wrists, and pinned your hands on either side of your head. “You are mad! What the deuce do you think you’re doing?”

“You are not the only warrior, you know.” 

“Compared to you?” He nodded. “Yes, I am.”

He threw your hands from his in disgust and rocked back. As he stood, you lurched forward, wrapped your arms about his knees once more, and tackled him. 

“Oof!” The air rushed from his body in a hot blast against your forehead and this time, you caught his wrists and slammed his hands into the dirt on either side of his head. His wrists were huge, so thick you couldn’t get your fingers all the way around them. He could have easily jerked free, but to your surprise, he didn’t. He just lay there, black hair spread out beneath him, leaves clinging to it, dirt spattered across his face, eyes wide as they met and held yours.

You were both out of breath, and when those blue eyes met yours, you realized anger was not what shot through you at that moment. This was the closest you’d ever been to Thorin Durin, and as you sat astride him, your knees on either side of his hips, you noticed for the first time just how blue his eyes were.

What?  

He just gazed up at you. “Now what?”

“Admit you were wrong about me.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” He shook his head. “Because I wasn’t. You are not a warrior.”

You leaned harder into his hands, and that brought you closer to him. Your noses almost touched. His breath came soft against your lips as you whispered, “You are wrong.”

“I am not.”

The air seemed to grow charged as you stared at each other, neither you nor him wanted to be the first to look away. His eyes widened just a little as he said, “Get off me.”

“Make me.”

“I can, you know.”

“Then don’t talk about it. Do it.”

He offered up a hint of a smile, one that did the oddest thing to you. It set loose a flutter in your belly that you’d never felt before. One that made your blood feel a little warmer. One that send a hint of recklessness shooting through you. 

Thorin lifted one brow ever so slightly and then—

You were on your back once more. 

Beneath him. 

And this time, he didn't sit back. He didn’t offer up a look of triumph. 

The crackle in the air grew stronger. It reminded you of how the air felt before a lightning storm, how charged it felt, as if sparks would snap between you and him at any moment.

But that was silly. He didn't like you. You didn't like him.

And yet…

His stare softened. His eyes, normally pale and piercing, seemed to darken, reminding you of the sapphires mined within the depths of Erebor. You held that sapphire gaze, your mouth suddenly dry as you said, “Get off me now.”

At least, you tried to say it. But what was a forceful command in your head emerged as a breathless whisper. 

He shook his head. “Make me.”

“Thorin.”

“What?” All traces of anger vanished from his voice. All traces of anger vanished from you entirely. 

Your heart seemed to beat a little harder now, and it had nothing to do with fighting with him. “You know I can.”

He nodded, leaning closer now. “Then do it.”

“Get off me.” 

“Make me,” he repeated, his voice almost teasing now. “If you can, that is.”

As he spoke, he bent closer still. You need only lift your head a fraction and his lips would brush yours. A feeling of recklessness swept through you and you did just that.

His lips were soft. His beard prickled against your chin, your cheek, your jaw. You waited for him to jerk away, to drag a hand over his lips and spit into the dirt as he tore into your for being so forward.

But he did none of these.

Instead, he kissed you back.

His lips moved softly against yours. They parted. The tip of his tongue—

You froze, but only for a moment. Then, you parted your lips as well and when you did, his tongue slid between them. It caressed yours with a silken heat you’d never felt before. One that sent heat rippling thorough your blood and had you sliding an arm about his neck, that had you slipping your fingers into his hair, which was so very soft despite the crunchy little leaf bits and other debris from your battle.

He shifted, his body aligning with yours. A thick thigh eased between yours and when he brought it up to press into the apex of your legs, fire shot through you. You gasped into his mouth, which in turn brought a chuckle to his lips. 

But that chuckle faded as he deepened his kiss. You forgot about the rocks, the uneven ground, that you were outside in the courtyard and anyone could happen upon you at any moment. They didn’t matter. Thorin’s kiss was sweeter than any honey, than any nectar, and as his lips moved against yours, the urge to unlace his tunic and tug it over his head surged thorough you. 

He broke the kiss, and disappointment flashed thorough you. Then, he moved down, his lips sweeping along your jaw, over your chin, down your throat. Your heart beat as if you’d run to Erebor from Rivendell, but your body hummed with desire instead of fatigue. 

You forced your heavy-lidded eyes open to watch as he slid a hand beneath your tunic, up along your ribs. You shivered at the first brush of his fingers against your left breast. Shivered at the spark of his thumb moving slowly about your nipple, which tightened into an achy little nub in an instant. 

Spark to kindling. That was what you were to one another. Clothing grew cumbersome and warm in the late summer air, and it took only moments for it to lay in piles around you as he tugged off your tunic, then laughed when you wrestled with the lacings on his. He sat back, skimming it over his head and in the dying afternoon sun, he looked magnificent. Golden light danced over the dark hair spilling over his shoulders, tumbling down his back. It bathed the swells of muscle along his shoulders and down over his chest. You could just stare at him for hours the way he looked right then and you wondered how you’d never seen how handsome he was before. Or perhaps you’d always known it, and were just to proud, too stubborn to admit it. 

It no longer mattered. He bent to sweep a hot kiss across your lips, then rose and shed his trousers without hesitation. You drank in the sight of Thorin naked—from his powerful shoulders and barrel chest to his legs heavy with thick muscle. Dark hair spread thick across his chest and down his belly, muscle bulged along his arms and shoulders and when he bent back to capture your lips with his, you practically melted into the grass beneath you. Did you think of him as a boy? Shame on you. He was no boy, but a man. A very desirable man.

And you wanted him.

He kissed his way down over your breastbone, sending tingles rushing through you. You couldn’t hold back your sigh as he dotted teasing kisses toward your right breast, up over the swell, to the tight, aching bead that was your nipple.

Your back bowed, your gasp involuntary as his lips closed about that nipple and his tongue flicked against it. For a moment, it seemed everything inside you rolled over, splashing down into your core to send molten heat pulsing through your veins. 

Your head spun wildly with each pass of his tongue, from short, teasing flicks to long, lazy swirls. The sensations ran riot through you, hot and tingling and delicious and knots twisted so tightly just below you belly. Between your thighs, your arousal, your desire for him made its presence known, the heady scent rising between you as your hips moved of their own to seek him out. 

He kissed his way back to your lips, carefully settling between your thighs. A shiver tickled along your spin and more than anything, you wanted only to wrap yourself about him and never let go.

His hands roamed over you, teased your nipples, caressed your skin, slid into the growing, damp heat between your legs. He wasn't at all tentative as he slid a finger inside you, but seemingly knew just how to stroke you, how to tend that fire smoking thorough you, to feed it and coax it into full blaze. 

You had to touch him… had to feel that solid muscle and warm skin for yourself. You weren’t at all shy, but incredibly curious, and when your fingers wrapped about that thick, hot, smooth, hard part of him to stroke, he shuddered against you, his breath warm against your neck as he breathed, “Mesmel, I want you…”

He teased you mercilessly now, his finger sliding in and out of you faster, his thumb brushed that small pearl nestled with the curls where your thighs met, and white lights burst before your eyes as he did something magical. You rocked to meet him, the sinfully sweet burst of ecstasy swirling through you as he brought you to the pinnacle of bliss. You throbbed around his finger, your fingernails digging into those powerful shoulders as the knots in your core erupted, as your core melted to sweep sparkling pleasure through your entire body.

He slid his finger free, shifted and then…

Oh, you felt…him… He rent the barrier marking you as a maiden, the pain sharp and mercifully short, and then you stared up at him with wide eyes as he worked his way deeper and your body slowly accommodated his thickness. “Thorin… we… we shouldn’t…”

His smile was equally tender and reassuring. “Of course we should,” came his husky whisper. “You were made for me, mesmel. And I for you. And there was a reason I always faced off against you…”

His words echoed about your head even as the first embers of need sparked to life. “Wait… you… you wanted to face me?”

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time you tried to take my feet out from under me.” His whisper grew huskier still and his eyes closed briefly. “And, mesmel, you feel amazing…”

He went still, the fullness inside you sending slight ripples of delight through you. He hadn’t even moved yet, and you were already tingling from head to toe. He drew back sightly, your back bowing at the heat growing from where your bodies joined. “You… you love me?”

“Oh, yes…” 

“You’re mad. You don’t even like me.”

 “Guess again, mimûna.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He winked, brushed your lips with his, then thrust. 

“Oh… that was nice…” you said without thinking.

“Nice?” 

“Nice.”

He smiled. “I think it’s supposed to be more than nice.”

“It’s getting there.”

“Oh, is it.”

“Oh, yes…” You nodded as the pleasure swirled more thickly through you now. 

He drew back, then surged forth once more and that was it. You rocked your hips to meet him, and with a low moan, he thrust harder. Harder. Faster. Each one more powerful than the last. Each one introducing you to a sensation, a fiery pleasure, you’d never felt before. The knots in your core swelled. They caught fire. Those flames licked your body with slow, agonizingly teasing tongues, stealing your breath, your ability to think, your ability to do anything other than feel.

And what he made you feel defied explanation. Nothing ever felt as amazing as this, nothing ever twisted your insides and fired your blood and sent smokier pleasure rocketing through you. Each thrust had you clinging to him, your fingernails dug into his shoulders, your back arched, your hips rolled.

“Thorin!” You couldn't hold back your cry, scaring the birds in the treetops above, made them take flight as one with a twitter and chirp of surprise. You couldn’t help it. White-hot bliss scorched through you, sent you soaring higher and higher, away from Erebor, away from Middle Earth. It left you and him as the only two people in the world and that was just fine with you.

“Mesmel…” His eyes screwed shut as he moved faster. Each thrust introduced you to a new pleasure, a new sensation that had you clinging to him, wrapping your legs about his waist, lifting your hips so he ground against that pearl with each powerful thrust. 

He shuddered and moaned softly above you, then, his eyes opened, met yours, and he bent to seize your lips with his as he drove deep, arched hard, went rigid, and growled, “Kurduwê,” as his body spilled into yours. 

His climax triggered a smaller one for you and you smiled as he sank against you, breathing hard into the curve of your neck. But your smile faded as you realize what you had both done. “Thorin,” you broke the gentle silence with an even gentler whisper, “did we make a mistake?”

“Not at all,” came his sleepy reply. “I’ve wanted this—and you—since the first time you faced off with me.”

Your eyes, so heavy-lidded a moment ago, were wide now as he drew back and smiled down at you. Your mouth was oddly dry once more, your tongue practically sticking to the roof of your mouth as you whispered, “What?”

“I told you, there a reason I always wished to pair up with you.” 

“You don’t even like me.”

“That is not true.” He bent and brushed your lips with a teasing kiss. “You don’t like me.”

“Well, that is true.”

His laugh rumbled through you and your toes almost curled as he brushed the tip of your nose with a kiss. “I think this is only the beginning, mimûna. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Have you?” You had to fight to keep your lips from curving upward. “But, I don’t even like you, remember?”

“Liar.”

As he spoke, he bent back to you, sweeping a kiss along the side of your neck that sent a flurry of shivered rolling down your spine. Your eyes closed, you drew in a deep breath, savoring his scent of musk, fresh earth, and leaves, and you couldn't resist teasing him with, “Will you admit I’m a warrior now?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’d rather you not be one,” he replied softly, his eyes serious now. “I’d worry too much.”

“Thorin.”

“I would.” He brushed your lips with his. “And now, we need to dress and I need to speak with your father.”

“Thorin, what are you about?”

He carefully eased off you and swept your tunic off the ground to hold out to you. “I wish to see where this goes, kurduwê. Or were you serious when you said you didn't like me? Because I was very serious when I said I was in love with you. And I am.”

 You took it, drawing it over your head as you said, “I was serious…”

“And now?”

“Now?” You sighed softly as you held his gaze, then shook your head. “No. Not now. But… I had no idea how you felt. Why didn't you just say something?”

“I was rather hoping you would best me, as you did here. And then I’d have had an excuse to pin you down.”

“You’re terrible. I should throw something at you for that.”

“But you won’t.”

“No. I won’t. But I should.” You slid into your trousers, then stood. “Have you any idea how many bruises you’ve given me?”

“I do and I apologize, but I couldn't go easy on you. It would have served no purpose and if I appeared to favor you over the others? Things could get messy.”

You sighed softly. You hadn’t thought of that. He was right, or course. “I suppose I should step down then, shouldn’t I? I wouldn’t want to make things too difficult for you where the others are concerned.”

He drew you into his arms then, wrapping his around you. “I think we can find a way to work around this. I find I rather like when you pin me to the ground, you know.”

“But you won’t let me do that when the others are around.”

He held you at arms’ length and winked. “Throw me down and whisper in my ear what you wish to do to me. I promise you, I’ll let you pin me whenever the mood strikes for that.”

“Is that so?”

“What do you think?”

You winked back at him. “I think I’m going to like besting you for a change.”

“Just wait, because I will get my revenge.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“It is definitely so.” 

With that, you hooked your ankle about his and shoved. He hit the ground with an “Oof,” and with a grin, you plopped down on him, caught him by the wrists, pinned his hands on either side of his head and whispered, “You don’t scare me.”

His eyes danced as he looked up at you. “Get off me.”

You winked. “Make me.”

***

Chapter Text

“Uh… I think our reservation got fucked up.”

You stood in the doorway behind Lucas and although you heard exactly what he said, it didn’t stop you from saying, “What?”

“Yeah. We were supposed to get a double. We got a single.”

“We did not. Did we?”

He stepped further into the room. “See for yourself.” 

You moved around him, the pit of your stomach dropping away with a sickening splash. This was not suppose to happen. “Well… this won’t do.” You brought your small wheelie into the room and turned to stare at the single king-sized bed. “I’ll go talk to someone at the front desk.”

“No. You wait here. I’ll do it.”

“Lucas—”

“I said, I’d do it.” He turned to you, steel-blue eyes bright with irritation. “Are you going to fight me on everything?”

“This counts as everything?”

He didn't answer, but stalked off, leaving you alone in the hotel room. Of all the people in the world, Donaldson just had to assign you to the one man in MI-5 that you had a past with. What even were the odds of that happening? You lived in New York, Lucas was based out of London. You were never supposed to cross paths again and that was exactly how you wanted it. 

But no. There you were, back in New York, just like old times, with him. Well, you’d be damned if you were sharing a bed with him this time. Uh-uh. No way. You’d rather sleep in the bathtub.

“Donaldson will hear about this when I get back into the office.” You rolled your suitcase further into the room, then left it by the desk to cross to the window. Nighttime in New York was almost as busy as daytime. You peered down at the people who from that height looked like ants hurrying along the sidewalks, crossing the streets, dodging the never-ending flow of traffic as they did so. There was a certain amount of comfort in the familiarity. 

It was the only thing comfortable at the moment.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Lucas since your fight at Heathrow almost seven months earlier. He wanted you to stay. You couldn’t. You’d been in England on a temporary basis, working with MI-5 on a joint assignment and when it ended, you were to return home. 

You tried not to think about that night at the airport. It tore you apart to leave him, as you were on the verge of falling in love with him. But, you’d worked so hard to get to where you were, you couldn’t just walk away from it. Or so you thought.

You chose your career over him. And basically regretted it ever since. 

Now, you had to work together. You were tracking the movements of an arms dealer with dual citizenship between the UK and the US, and he’d flown into JFK that morning, not even knowing Lucas was on the same flight, watching his every move from boarding to deplaning. 

Stephen Mills’ reservation at the hotel was for two nights. He was in the room next door and your secretary swore she’d made herself clear about needing a double room for you and Lucas when she’d booked it. Somebody messed up. 

The key reader clicked and the door opened and you knew the answer just by the dark expression on Lucas’ face. He confirmed with a gruff, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No other rooms on this floor?”

He shook his head, raking a hand through his black hair. “No other rooms anywhere. Super Bowl weekend. We’re lucky we have this.”

“Well, that leaves us with a problem, doesn’t it?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “No. I just told you, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Fine.” You weren’t about to argue. If he wanted sleep on the floor, more power to him. “So, according to Donaldson, the bugs were put in place last night. He can’t come or go without us knowing.”

“At least something is going our way.” He lifted his carryon onto the bed and opened it, taking out a small speaker, which he set on the dresser and switched on, and then pulled a dark green Pendaflex folder at least two inches thick with information from the bag as well. “This is the dossier on Mills. Have you had a chance to look it over?”

You nodded, diving into your own bag to come up with your copies of the file. “It’s only the basics, but I’m up to speed. I went over it last night, and then this morning on the ride over.”

“Good.” He set the folder on the table and flipped it open. His blue eyes narrowed as he perused the documents. “You know, I didn’t ask for this assignment. Just for the record.”

“I didn't think you had.”

“Did you request it?”

“No. I didn’t.”

He looked over then, one dark brow arched as if you’d said something unbelievable. “You didn’t?”

“No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I gave up trying to figure out how you think a long time ago.”

“That’s not all you gave up on.”

The words were out before you could stop them, and you regretted them as his back stiffened and he slowly lifted his head. “Me? I gave up? You’re the one who ran away.”

“I didn’t run away. I had to come home. I had a life here, remember? A job. An apartment. Family. I could’t just play house in England with you while it was convenient for you.”

His eyes narrowed and a mirthless laugh bubbled to his lips. “While it was convenient… Sure. Let’s run with that, shall we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to the dossier. “It means nothing.”

“No,” you moved closer to him, letting the folder in your hand drop to the table with a soft slap, “if there’s something you want to say to me, Lucas, say it.”

“There isn’t.” He glanced up at you only briefly, then turned back to the file. “There really isn’t.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”

He didn't answer, but pulled out a chair and sank into it, leaning forward slightly to continue his reading. It was a posture you’d seen so many times. His cheek resting against his fist, a small furrow forming between his eyes as he squinted because he refused to admit he needed glasses now. His spiky dark hair, so black it held almost a blue sheen, spilled over his forehead. He needed a trim. He’d have bangs before much longer otherwise. 

You snagged your folder and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. You tried to study the notes, but concentration was damn near impossible. A hint of eucalyptus and sandalwood hung in the air. His soap. His shampoo. It was one of them. And when you offered up a sidelong glance, you realized his profile still made you want to sigh. He complained about his nose being too big, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was perfect. Everything about his face was just so… perfect. His was a regal profile—his features strong and handsome, his steel blue eyes contrasting in so striking a manner with his dark hair and pale skin. 

Part of you wondered if he was seeing anyone now. Part of you wondered if he missed you at all.

Part of you reminded you that you most definitely missed him. 

He wasn't an easy man to be with—a bit secretive, closed off, traumatized by a past he was reluctant to share and had only told you parts of in confidence. He kept everyone at a distance. But he had been letting you in, if only a little. He’d once told you that he trusted you and you knew trust was not something that came easily to him. 

But there was something more to him, something that drew you to him despite all of the nonsense you told yourself. Seeing him now was a shock to your system and if you were completely honest with yourself, you were nowhere near being over him. You thought about him since that night in Heathrow. Probably more than was healthy. After all, you were being honest with yourself, right?

“I can feel you looking at me,” he said without turning away from the file. 

“I’m not looking at you.”

“Sure you are. The side of my face is getting hot.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You wish.”

“No, I don’t.”

Static crackled, followed by the soft sound of a door opening and then closing. You both looked up and Lucas said, “I think our boy is here.”

“Sounds like it.”

He lifted his gaze to the speaker. The only sounds were those of shuffling feet, and unpacking. You looked over at Lucas. “How long is he supposed to be here for?”

“Three days. His story is he’s here for the Super Bowl.”

“Of course he is.” You bent back to your file.

Taps squeaked in the distance, followed by the rush of water. Your guy was getting ready to shower.

The bed dipped as he sank onto the edge of it. “Do we know what his plans are for tonight?”

You flipped thorough your file. “All it says is he’s going to the game in East Rutherford on Sunday. That’s all we’ve been able to pick up. Any other plans he has, he’s been very careful not to divulge them.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised.” A brief pause and then he said, “How have you been?”

His deep voice was soft, a hint of concern woven through it, one that sent a bit of warmth streaking through you. You tried to ignore that warmth, instead focusing on the pages fanned across the pale green bedspread. “I’m fine. You?”

His fingers skimmed along your hair and you pressed your lips together as he swept it back, away from your face. “I’m all right. Busy. Work never stops.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Those fingers lingered along your neck, just below your ear. He remembered how sensitive that bit of skin was, and when he trailed them down into the curve of your shoulder, you had to fight off the soft shiver his touch sent through you.

“Don’t,” you told him, pulling back. “This is neither the time, nor the place.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He said it so softly and yet its impact was a like a slap in the face or a punch to the gut. You didn’t want to feel anything, wanted the numbness that had pervaded you when you got on that plane all those months ago to come rushing back. It had to, because the alternative was far too dangerous to your senses. You’d rather be numb than feel the pain of wanting someone you could never have. You knew that pain far too well where Lucas was concerned. 

“Lucas,” you had to force yourself to look at him, to meet those blue eyes that were now soft and almost tender, “nothing has changed. We want different things and we always will and you want more from me than I can give.”

“I’ve still missed you.”

“Well, stop missing me.”

His hand fell away, coming to rest on the inside of his left thigh. “You mean you don’t miss me? Don’t miss us?”

Hopefully, he didn't see you draw in a deep breath. And he certainly had no idea how much effort it took for you to look at him, to hold his gaze as you shook your head. “I don’t. I don’t miss any of it. I’m over you. And I have been for a long time.”

Your words struck a nerve. You saw it in how his eyes briefly widened, in the way he pressed his lips together for a moment. Then, he rose from the bed. “Forget I said anything then.”

“I will.”

 He dropped into his chair and bent over the dossier once more, leaving you to just stare at him as you wished you could take your words back. Of course you missed him. For the last nearly seven months, you thought of him at least dozen times a day. You’d pull up his contact information and just stare down at his profile picture as you tried to force yourself to dial his number. You’d lie alone in bed at night and almost ache with the memory of what being with him was like. You’d wondered if he spent his nights alone and then hated yourself for it.

And now he was there and instead of telling him you wanted more than anything to try to make things work, you just pushed him away. This time for good.

Wonderful. 

What an idiot you are.

The shower noises stopped and the next sound you heard was Mills on the phone. His calls were being monitored, but not by you and so you didn't know who was on the other end. All you knew was it sounded like he was making plans. If he planned to leave his room, someone from HQ would let you know right away. But your phone, Lucas’ phone remained quiet. Mr. Mills was in for the time being. 

You tried to concentrate on the file, but couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go over to Lucas, drape your arms about his neck the way you used to whenever he was working, studying a file, and press your cheek into his, the way you’d done so many times in London. You wanted to feel the cool softness of his hair against your temple, the rough, sandpapery cheek that would need to be shaved come morning firm and warm against your own. You wanted to close your eyes when he turned to brush his lips along your jaw—a kiss that would somehow find its way to your lips eventually. And when that happened… he’d pull you into his lap, or onto the nearest flat surface, work be damned.

Only the low schwiff of pages being turned broke the silence. Even Mr. Mills was quiet. If he was readying to go out, he had to be tiptoeing about his room. The only sound coming through the speaker was a rustle that sounded like someone sitting down on the bed. 

But then footsteps sounded in the hallway and you and Lucas looked up at the same time as Mills’ voice came through the speaker. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, darling. There was traffic.”

A woman. You looked over at Lucas, and his eyebrows rose as he turned back to the wall between your room and Mills’. 

“I guess he’s staying in,” Lucas said with a shrug. 

“Sounds like it.” You bent back to the file. 

As you studied the photographs, a soft, but distinct sound wafted through the wall between the rooms. It didn't register at first but then, little by little, you realized what it was. Once again, you looked up just as Lucas did and when your eyes met, he smiled. “Someone is enjoying themselves.”

You chuckled. “Is that the headboard hitting the wall?”

“I think so.”

It was soft at first, but then the rhythmic thumping grew louder. You tried to ignore it. Tried to concentrate on the words on the page before you.

Then the moaning started. 

“Oh my god…” You looked over at Lucas. “He’s really loud!”

Then a woman cried out, “I never knew it would be like this, Stuart.”

The banging stopped and Lucas snorted. “Oh, shit…”

You clapped a hand to your lips and looked down at the file. The file of one Stephen Mills. Not Stuart. “She called him by the wrong name… oh… oh, no…”

“Someone just went real soft, real fast,” Lucas said, leaning back in his chair. “And someone is either not getting paid, or has a lot of explaining to do.”

A moment later, a door slammed. Silence followed. Then the sound of a television. You and Lucas exchanged looks once more, he just barely arched an eyebrow. “Poor Stuart. Nothing like a case of blue balls to end your night.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“It truly is.”

Without thinking, you nudged him with your shoulder. “Tomorrow is not going to be any brighter, either.”

“I think tonight will be worse.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

You smiled, your cheeks growing a little warmer as you said, “I wouldn’t know.”

His grin widened. “Trust me.”

“I do not want to know any more.”

You both laughed over that for a minute, then it faded into a surprisingly comfortable silence. Lucas closed the file and shifted to look at you. “How have you been?”

“Me? I’ve been fine, I guess. Busy. What about you?”

“The same. I go home just to shower to shower and change clothes any more.”

“I know that feeling all too well.”

He nodded, then after a brief pause, asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Me?” You sigh softly, shaking your head. “No. Are you?”

“No.” He pushed his chair away and came over to the bed once more. “I wasn’t lying when I said I miss you, you know. I do.”

As he spoke, he sank beside you and this time, when he traced his fingers along your cheek, you didn't pull away. Your eyelids grew so heavy, the sweep of tingles rippling out from where he touched you soft and sweet. 

“I know.” You had to force your eyes to remain open, to meet his, and when they did, you whispered, “Me, too.”

A hint of a smile lit up his face and he leaned in. Your lips met, his kiss gentle, his lips gentler still. His hand curved against your cheek, his fingers splayed up into your hair. His mouth moved against yours leisurely. 

But then, those sparks caught. You reached for him, catching his rough cheeks between your hands. He shifted, lowering his hand from your face to snake that arm about your waist. He pressed you down into the pillows, his kiss growing hungrier by the second. His tongue slid along yours, and when you wrapped your arms about his neck and caught the back of his dark green, long sleeved tee shirt, you felt his smile against your lips. You tugged, he obliged, and the cotton whisked over his head and he backed out of it. 

He hadn’t changed at all. You knew the tattoos inked into his upper body as if you’d drawn them yourself. They were all black, no shading, no nuances. Just bold, stark reminders of times you knew he’d rather forget entirely. You let your hands slid up along his smooth chest, outward, to let your thumbs lazily move about his nipples. 

His eyes darkened, more sapphire than steel blue, and he smiled as he said, “I have missed you, love…”

And with that, his lips met yours again, with fire and fury and his hands roamed over you, beneath your sweater, shoved your bra up and out of his way. You offered no resistance, let him tug your clothing out of his path, smiling has he pressed hot kisses into every bit of skin he bared. Your back arched, his name rising to your lips as he caught your nipple with gentle teeth to tease with the tip of his tongue. 

You each wrestled with the other’s jeans, and when you hooked your thumbs in his dark red boxer briefs to shove them down, he smiled and whispered, “Please tell me you’re still on the Pill. I don’t have any condoms with me.”

You reached for him, your fingers just brushing along his length. “Are you kidding me? Lucas North isn’t prepared for this? I’m shocked.”

A low laugh swept toward you. “I was decidedly not optimistic.”

“You’re in luck,” you whispered, closing your fingers about him to glide along him from base to head, “because I am still on the Pill.”

His smile grew wolfish and sinful. “Then what are we waiting for?”

As he spoke, he slid a finger inside you and you bit down hard on your bottom lip as he did something magical with it. What were you waiting for, indeed? 

He shifted, eased his finger free, and positioned himself. His entry was slow and sweet, and when he’d seated himself inside you, he brushed your lips with his, and began moving just as slowly. The frenzy was gone, you were in no hurry, but wanted to savor each delicious thrust, wanted to wrap yourself around him and never let go of him. 

He smiled down at you. “You’d best not call me by the wrong name.”

“Same goes for you, you know.”

“Never.” He dipped to kiss you and that was that. No more words passed between you and none were needed. Everything you’d felt for the last seven months came roaring back, and you wrapped yourself around him as you welcomed him back where he belonged. Back where you belonged.

Together.

Lucas seemed to feel it as well, his kisses lingering and gentle as he thrust inside you. You shivered at the sensations running riot at being reunited with him. You’d missed him more than words could ever possibly express, and when he brought you to that summit, you clung to him, shared it with him, and whispered, “I love you,” as you both went over the edge.

He sank against you with a sigh, his lips tender as they swept along the curve of your neck, as he whispered, “It’s about time you admitted it, you know.”

You reached up to brush that same spiky lock of black hair away from his forehead. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What else is there?”

“Lucas!”

His laugh reverberated through you and he bent to nuzzle you as he murmured, “You know I love you, too. At least, I hope you do. Because I do. And I don’t like being away from you.”

“Me, neither. The last seven months have flat out sucked.”

He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “They have, indeed.”

You lay there, tangled together and sleepy, and listened to whatever television show Mr. Mills watched. You knew he was still in his room because more than once, he talked to himself out loud. And by midnight, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He snored louder than any human being you’d ever heard before. 

You lay beneath the covers with Lucas, your head on his chest, your arm draped over his hip, your left leg carelessly thrown over his. The bed was good and rumpled, the bedspread bunched at the foot, the only light coming from the bathroom, where Lucas just pulled the door by after he finished washing up between rounds. You were spent and sated and wanted only to lay there in his arms for as long as you possibly could.

“So, what comes next?” you whispered, tracing along the image tattooed into the middle of his chest, the one of William Blake’s Ancient of Days depicting Urizen as the embodiment of conventional reason and law..

“I don’t know, love,” he murmured back, his fingertips sweeping up and down over your shoulder, along your upper arm. “But, we have plenty of time to figure it out. I’ve got a bit of vacation saved, so why don’t we go somewhere warm when this is over and see where we are?”

“I think that sounds like a good plan.”

The phone on the bedside table rang and Lucas stretched his free arm out to snatch up the receiver. “Yeah?” 

He listened for a moment, then smiled as he peered down at you. “I don’t think we’ll need that double after all. This room is just fine, but thank you.”

He hung up the phone and a loud snore ripped through the speaker. You propped yourself up on one elbow. “They found us a room with two beds?”

“Yeah. But I really don’t think we need it now, do you?”

“Easy for you to say,” you told him. “You’re not sleeping in the wet spot.”

He laughed and tugged you back into his arms and a moment later, you didn't give a damn about any wet spots. 

Chapter Text

You sat in the same seat every Tuesday and Thursday nights—fourth row, right next to the window. The classroom was on the second floor, your view that of the parking lot and the woods just beyond it. Not all that exciting, but you weren’t all that interested in the scenery beyond the window anyway, so it hardly mattered. 

Your best friend was supposed to be there with you, but she dropped out after the first class when her hours at work changed. And that was fine, actually. It meant you could focus solely on the man at the front of the room, who was currently talking about photojournalism in war zones.  You really didn't hear what he said. You were too busy just… admiring him. 

Ray Levine looked like no professor you’d ever had—his dark hair on the longer side and always looked as if he’d combed it by raking his fingers through it to pull it away from his face. He dressed in faded jeans, and long-sleeved tee shirts or henleys during the cooler months, but now, as the weather grew warmer, he swapped them out for tee shirts. His arms were heavily inked—not sleeves, but individual images, some of keys, one of a hand holding dog tags, trees and roots, and some unidentifiable images. They were all black and gray save for the one on his right forearm. There, he’d inked what looked like a chainmail-clad hand, holding a sword thrust through a crown with a rose hanging from it. It was mostly black and gray, but unlike the other images, this one also bore color. Teal in the hand and sword itself, yellow in the crown, red in the rose. 

And his eyes were absolutely the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. They were the same perfect pale blue of a cloudless summer sky and whenever those eyes slid in your direction, you almost sighed at their beauty. 

Week after week, you sat there, just soaking up all he wanted to teach. And almost every week, you went up to him after class for help. He was so patient with you, no matter how stupid your question seemed to you. And they never seemed stupid to him at all. He’d smile and let out a low, rumbling laugh that made your heart melt, and he’d assure you it wasn't a stupid question. In fact, he once joked that for all of the times you claimed you needed help, you were one of his star students.

He called on you, time and again, and you were happy to contribute. And this week, he’d asked you to help him set up the darkroom supplies, and as you worked, he asked you about your day, as he always did. You asked him about his. And it was all so comfortable. At one point, your hand brushed his as you handed him toner and a jolt tore up along your arm. Did he feel it? It was hard to tell as he’d turned away at that same moment. 

But then, he looked back. “I appreciate your help, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. This class is amazing. I can’t believe how much I’ve learned.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you think so and I’m just as glad to see you’re getting something out of it. How’s your project coming?”

“Fine. I’m just about finished with it.”

“Good. Any trouble?”

“No. Nothing that going over my notes couldn’t help.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He turned away to set the bottle down at the far end of the table. 

“Professor?”

“Ray,” he said without looking back at you.

Still, you smiled. “Ray, can I ask you something?”

He peered at you over his left shoulder. “Sure. Ask away.”

You wanted to melt at the sound of his voice. He was English, his voice deep and elegant. He had a bedtime story voice—one so soothing, it could easily lull you to sleep. Or keep you awake, if he was whispering your name in your ear. 

“I was wondering—”

“Professor Levine?”

You clamped your lips together as Tony D’Amato poked his head into what would be the darkroom once class began. Damn it. What did he want? He rarely paid any attention in class, and last week, when you’d covered the module on pornography and the media, he and his clique of dude bros cackled like magpies the entire time. 

“Ray.”

“Sorry,” Tony didn't even look at you as he went on in a breathless rush, “do you have a few minutes before class starts? I have a question about my project.”

“Sure.” Ray looked over at you. “Thanks for your help again.”

You nodded, smiling even as your insides twisted into furious knots. How were you ever going to ask Ray if he wanted to grab a coffee or a drink or something after class if dudebros kept getting in the way? 

The question bounced around in your head the entirety of class. And you shot Tony dirty looks every chance you got. Not that he saw them. He paid no attention to you. He never did. It didn't stop you, but it did take some of the fun out of it. 

You tried to focus on the lecture, but had a hard time doing so since you were still just so annoyed at Tony. It seemed hours had crawled by before Ray said, “So, are there any questions?”

You waited for the wave of hands to rise, but tonight, no one had any questions and Ray looked surprised, his eyebrows shooting up as he said, “So, I was that clear tonight, huh? That’s a first.” 

A ripple of laughter rolled thorough the classroom. Ray looked about. “Are you certain? Not a single question? Not even about your projects?”

The project was due next week, for the last class of the semester. You dreaded it. Not because your project was particular difficult, but because it meant you would have no reason to be sitting in the fourth row, by the windows, where you had a perfect view of Ray for two hours, twice a week any longer. He only offered Intro to Photography, at least as far as you knew.   

Then again, if you didn't lose your nerve tonight, perhaps next week wouldn’t be the last time you saw him. In fact, you just might be seeing a whole more of him and in more ways than one. 

You smiled even as your mouth went dry. You gathered up your book and notebook, whisked your pen and phone into your purse, and stood as Ray said, “Well, if you are all absolutely certain you have nothing you wish to ask, I’ll see you all on Tuesday. Enjoy your weekend. Remember, I have office hours Monday morning if you realize there was actually something you wanted to ask, or you can email me.”

You hung back, moved slower than usual, and waited for the usual crowd gathered about him to disperse. It was nearly eight-thirty, but finally, you were alone in the classroom with him.

“Ah, I was hoping you hang around,” he said with a grin. “Would you mind helping me clean up? I know I’m asking a lot, since it’s late, but—”

You smiled and shook your head. “No. I don’t mind at all.”

His smile sent a flutter through you. “I knew I could count on you.”

That was your chance. “Professor—”

“Ray.”

 “Right. Ray.” You moved a little closer to him. “I was wondering if you might want to go and get a coffee or something? During class, I realized I do have a few questions about my final project.”

“A drink?” To your surprise, his smile faded and he shook his head. “No, that’s not a good idea. Besides, it’s getting a little late and I’m supposed to be somewhere.”

“I know, but The Roadhouse is just across the street.”

He didn't answer right away, and that made the knots in your stomach tighten. This was not how you saw this playing out. Not at all. He wasn’t supposed to hesitate. He was supposed to look at the steel watch on his left wrist, sigh softly and say of course he’d join you, that his plans could wait. 

But instead, he shook his head once more. “I think it’d be better if you just asked me your questions now,” he said, gesturing to the darkroom door, which stood wide open now. “While we clean up.”

You scowled when he turned away. He didn't wait for you, but just strode into the darkroom ahead of you. You weren’t even sure he’d heard your, “Okay.” 

“So,” he said as you joined him, “what’s your question?”

You looked up at him. He towered over you by nearly a foot or so, and his eyes were direct as his gaze held yours for a long moment, then he picked up the tray of chemicals to be discarded, carrying it over to the proper receptacle for said chemicals and carefully poured the contents out. 

You just watched him, the way his tee shirt bunched slightly, then stretched taut across his shoulders, the way his hair curled over his collar. Your lips felt dry, so you licked them, wondering what he would do if you crept up behind him and traced the tip of your tongue along the side of his neck, down to where it sloped into his shoulder.

You knew what he’d do. He’d stiffen at first, then let out a soft laugh and pretend to protest, to insist he was your professor, but then he’d yield. He’d turn to you, slide his arms about your waist, lift you to meet his kiss—

He looked over his shoulder then, one brow raised. “Something the matter?”

“What?” You jumped and shook your head, “No, everything’s fine. I just… It’s just that I’m not entirely sure I understand what it is exactly that you’re lookism for?”

“It’s due next week and you’re only now asking? I assigned this in February.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other to give him the impression you were actually worried about it. Truth was, you’d finished the bulk of this project weeks ago. It needed only the final touches put on and you just knew he’d love it. “I know, but it was an idea I’d only just come up with, so…”

“You haven’t even begun working on it yet?”

“No, I—I have, it’s more like I’ve decided to take it in a different direction.” 

You watched as he recapped one of the bottles. His hands were huge, with long, elegant fingers, and the tattoos on his forearms stretched out into the backs of his hands as well. More than once, you wondered what those hands would feel like on you, wondered how gentle they could be as they stroked you, cupped your breasts, wandered between your legs.

No. Not now! There’d be plenty of time for that later. 

“A different direction?”

You nodded. “Yeah. So, why don’t we go and get that drink and I can ask you about it? It’s a little… complicated.”

“I can’t tonight. I’ve only got a few minutes and like I said, I have to be somewhere and I’m already going to be late as it is. So, really, it’d be better if you just asked me about whatever you were confused about. Or if you can, shoot me an email over the weekend.”

Okay, so far, this was nothing like you imagined it. He was supposed to be trying to convince to stay with him, to maybe sneak off with him to his car or the motel down the road. He was not supposed to be trying like hell yo get away from you. You felt the familiar slow burn in your gut, the one that flared when you didn’t get what you wanted. 

You had to ignore it. You still had a chance to convince him. To entice him. Time to bring out the big guns, as the stupid saying went.

“Well, you said we can shoot any subject matter we want,” your heart slammed harder against your ribs, with your mouth growing drier still, “right?”

“Any subject matter that doesn’t involve breaking any laws, of course. And if you’re using models, they each need to sign the release I handed out when I assigned everything and I need copies of those releases for every warm body you use before you begin. But otherwise,” he shrugged, “sure. Go crazy. Think as far outside the box as possible.”

The smile that accompanied his words momentarily stunned you. Did this man have any idea just how hot he was? He should only know how many nights you’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining that smile aimed at you, imagining his pale blue eyes locked with yours. And the fantasy always started out harmless enough—a moment such as this, maybe. An innocent conversation. Then your hand would brush his. He’d look over at you. He’d smile. He’d reach for you. Draw you into those tattooed arms. His lips would find yours. His hands would slip beneath your tee shirt, or into your jeans, your shorts, whatever you happened to be wearing. He’d hurriedly tug your clothes off, lift you onto his desk and—

And that’s when your hands would started wandering. They’d drift down, between your legs, into the damp heat that the images in your head brought forth. You’d slip your fingers into that heat, let them slide along your flesh as it grew slick with each pass. You’d imagine him doing this instead, imagine his fingers tracing along the soft knot of your clit, gentle at first, teasing. Then he’d grow bolder, he’d slide down to your opening, and then…

You’d slip your finger inside, let your slick coat it so when you drew it back and traced back along the surface of your clit, it was in a silken glide that would make your entire body shiver. You’d stroke it harder and harder, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you shuddered, as your hips rocked up, as your clit grew swollen and sensitive, as the heat thickened and you ached for his cock instead of your finger. 

Even now, your thighs pressed together and a soft shiver rippled through you. What would he do if you leaned over and kissed him? In your mind, he’d lift you onto his desk, shove your skirt up, tear your panties off, tug his cock from his jeans, and fuck you right there. 

Oh, that was a delicious thought. Your thighs tightened against each other. A soft tingle began where they met, hummed thorough you. Your gaze fell to his lips, and you wondered what his kiss would taste like. His lips would be soft, no doubt. His tongue equally so. But incredibly skilled. He would tease you with it. Trace it along your neck, down to your breasts. He’d swirl it about a nipple, and kiss his way down…

“So… by thinking outside the box,” you managed to say even as you felt the dampness of your arousal pooling against the cotton of you bikinis, “you mean, outside the box. Like, really outside it. Right?”

His eyes grew puzzled and he shook his head as he put away the rest of the chemicals and pans. “I’m not following.”

“Well… okay… I was thinking of doing a series of nudes. Would that be all right?”

He blinked. “Nudes.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Like we talked about a few weeks ago during the Playboy lecture. The beauty of the human body and all that.”

He laughed, but you noticed it wasn't the laugh you always heard when he gave a lecture and something amusing happened. This laugh sounded forced. Uneasy. You knew you’d gone too far. What sounded seductive in your head must have sounded stupid to his ears. 

“I—uh—” He looked down at his watch again and then stood. “I have to admit, you’re the only one of your classmates to suggest such a thing. As far as I know, no one else is planning to even use models, so, I don’t—”

“I’d be the model and I’m okay with it, so, if you are as well, can I do that?”

In your fantasy, this would be when he offered up a slow smile and leaned in to kiss you. And it would be the start of a wonderful new life. Just you and Ray. Together. Forever. 

But in reality, a flush swept along his cheeks, from the scruff of beard covering the lower half of his face, rising almost to his hairline. “I know I said to think outside the box, but no, using yourself as a model in that way would not be in any way appropriate. Not for this project or this class, anyway. And I will not accept it, either.” 

He moved around you to leave the darkroom. Once he passed back into the classroom, he glanced at you over one shoulder. “I’m afraid I cannot possibly agree to accept this project as it stands. You have to understand how utterly inappropriate it would be.”

Embarrassment flooded you. The fiery heat engulfed you, made you feel so utterly stupid for even suggesting it. You should’ve just handed it in and let it speak for you. Let it seduce him. 

And you blew it. 

You blew it, asshole.

“I don’t mind it, though,” you said, desperate to get the conversation back on the track you wanted it to take. “I mean, you said yourself there’s nothing wrong with it, if it’s tasteful and these are. I swear they are.”

“It’s immaterial that you don’t mind. And while I stand behind what I said about nothing being wrong with it, there is a huge difference between a magazine and a class project. It would be inappropriate and unacceptable for me to even consider it, never mind to green light it. No,” he shook his head, “I’m afraid you will have to submit something else. And I want to know what it is before you being working on it, is that clear?”

Anger flashed through you. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was all going so fucking wrong. “But, I’m almost finished and class ends next week.”

“You should have thought to ask me about this before now. You should have seen for yourself that it wouldn’t be acceptable. Why would you think otherwise?”

Your gut churned wildly, your fingernails biting into the palms of your hands as your temper reared its head. Don’t lash out. 

Just ask him already. 

“Okay, here’s the thing, I really like you, Ray, and I thought maybe we could go out—”

“Ray, are you just about done? My stomach is ready to eat itself.”

The woman’s voice was like a blade slicing through your spinal cord and you spun about to see a tiny blonde in the doorway. She didn't look at you, her green eyes remaining on him. You were invisible to her. 

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Her gaze did slide to you, but only for a moment and then it fell on Ray once more. You weren’t invisible, but you certainly weren’t important. 

“Yeah. I’m finished here, love. Sorry it took me so long. Students and their questions.” He gathered up his camera bag and notebook and offered you a half-smile. “Email me your new project idea first thing tomorrow.”

“Of course.” 

He bobbed his head. “Have a good night.” 

“You—you, too.” You stepped back as he moved around his desk and without a look back, joined the blonde in the doorway. The pit of your stomach fell away as he leaned toward the blonde and brushed her lips with his. Jealousy, poison green and sharp as a blade, sliced through you as you stared.

He straightened up then and said, “So, how does Russo’s sound?”

You didn't hear her reply as they left you alone in the classroom, a hint of Ray’s sandalwood based cologne lingering in the air as if to taunt you. Who was that blonde? Wife? Girlfriend? You scowled at the now-empty doorway, then went and retrieved your backpack. 

Back at in the cozy, one-bedroom apartment you called home, you sat cross-legged on your bed, scrolling through Ray’s Facebook page. His was the third Ray Levine page you’d clicked on and as you went through his pictures, your jaw clenched tighter. Your blood boiled hotter.

The blonde’s name was Theo. She was a personal trainer. 

She was Ray’s wife. 

There were endless photos of him with her—at the shore, on an island somewhere, in what looked like London. And in each one, they both looked so happy. So fucking happy. 

You clicked on another and just stared. A wedding on the beach. Him and his stupid Theo and three other people and that was it. His wedding. He looked so happy, and in every picture of him and Theo, she was in his arms. Or he was kissing her. Or both. 

Without thinking, you slammed the laptop’s lid down on the happy couple, your stomach in knots. You wanted to vomit. This wasn't fair. You were supposed to be the one in those pictures. You were supposed to be the one in his arms. He smiled at you every week. He asked you how your day had gone. If you’d had a terrible day, he asked what happened. He offered advice and encouraged you. He said you had talent. An eye for striking subject matter.

And all the while he knew… he knew he was married. How dare he lead you on that way? And then to—to mock your idea, to tell you to find something else to shoot? How dare he smile at you and talk to you and give you the impression he wanted to see you outside of class? How could he just lead you on that way? Just let you think there was something there between you? 

How dare he!

You scrolled through the photos of him on your phone, the ones you’d surreptitiously taken during class. And with each one, your eyes welled up. Tears spilled over to make his face blurry as they coursed over your cheeks and hit the phone screen with a splop. You’d given him so much of your time, you had talked about so many things, and all the while, he was with another woman.

Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he at that very moment rolling around in bed with her? Were his hands and lips and tongue working what you were positive was exquisite magic on her? God, you envied her so much. You should be the one there with him. The one in his arms. You loved him and he had to know that. He just had to…

And he would.

You’d show him.

An eye for subject matter.

He’d seen nothing yet.

Ray wanted to throw up. Theo’s hand slipped into his, her fingers threading with his as she murmured, “Oh, my God…”

He had no words as he stared down at the photographs spread across the sergeant’s desk. He only barely heard the sergeant when he asked, “She was a student of yours, wasn't she?”

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak at first. Theo’s thumb grazed his. He cleared his throat and managed to murmur, “She was one of my best students. Always willing to help with the hands-on part of the course. Always smiling and—and… when did this happen?”

“She was found earlier this morning and these were in an envelope with your name on it. And there was a note.”

Theo looked first at the sergeant, then at him. “A—a note?”

The sergeant nodded. “Addressed to Mr. Levine. It was in with the pictures of her. ”

He meant the photos she’d done for her final project, the photos that the sergeant warned him bordered on explicit. He rejected the offer to see them for himself. He didn't want to see them. She was a student. Barely old enough to drink legally. She had amazing eye and a god-given talent for photography. 

The sergeant slid over the note in question. The wrinkled, blood-spattered sheet of paper had been torn from a notebook and now lay encased in a plastic evidence sleeve. Ray closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to stare down at the note written in blue pen by what appeared to be a frenzied hand.

“I did it for you… for us…”

“Ray,” Theo’s voice was soft, “what did she mean, for you and for us?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“Were you having an affair with her, Mr. Levine? Is that what this means?”

“An affair with her?” Ray snapped his head up to meet the sergeant’s direct stare and shook it emphatically. “No. Of course not. I—I saw her twice a week from six-thirty to eight in class and that was it. Sometimes she would come to class early and would sometimes stay a few minutes after, but I never saw her outside of that classroom. She never came to my office hours, nothing but the occasion email or voicemail. Jesus… why?”

“I don’t know if we’ll ever know,” the sergeant replied softly. “And that’s too bad.”

Ray swallowed hard. “She had so much talent…”

“For all the good it did.” The sergeant gathered the note and photos and tucked them back it the envelope marked evidence. It was sealed and dated and then he said, “You’re free to go, Mr. Levine. Thank you for your time.”

Ray nodded, slipping his hand into Theo’s. Her fingers tightened about his and no words passed as they left the police station and stepped out into the warm early summer sunshine. 

Chapter Text

You let your eyes close as a delicious drowsiness washed over you. John’s arm slid about your waist, tightening as he tugged you to him until he cradled you against his chest. His thighs pressed the backs of yours, the coarse hair curling away from his skin tickling yours with the slightest movement. Not that he moved much. He seemed as content as you were to simply lay there and enjoy the warmth of his skin bare against yours. A sigh wafted against your back, followed by the brush of his lips on your shoulder, where it sloped into your neck. You smiled, snuggling closer still. 

You shouldn’t enjoy this. You shouldn’t feel as content and happy as you did then. After all, you were with another woman’s husband. Guilt and shame should burn you from within. Girl power and sister solidarity and all that. Not that you were a big believer in those ideas. After all, women weren’t all on the same side by virtue of being of the same gender. 

Still, guilt and shame managed to flutter through you from time to time and when they came to visit, you did your best to ignore them. The betrayal was not yours, but at the same time, it was absolutely yours. You didn't set out to have an affair with a married man. You never planned to do this, it just… happened. And once you slept with John, you were a goner. Right or wrong, you didn’t care. Your heart wanted him. Your body ached for him. With each clandestine meeting, you fell a little more, a little harder, and now? There was no escape for you, not that you wished for one. You were no fool, you harbored no delusions of his ever being completely yours, and yet, you couldn’t walk away from him. You didn't want to walk away from him.

So there you were, trailing your fingertips along John’s forearm, through the dark hair shadowing from his elbow up into the back of his hand. You covered his hand with yours, slid your fingers in between his, smiling as he gave yours a gentle squeeze. 

Sunlight spilled through the large windows overlooking Central Park, bounced across the pale yellow comforter. The sheets surrounding you had been crisp and fresh an hour earlier. Now they were soft and wrinkled, the blanket and comforter spilling from the foot of the bed, the pillows on one side shoved to the floor. If you turned your head just slightly to your left, you’d see the trail of clothes that began at the door and ended next to the bed. Your forest green sweater. His tie and stark white button down shirt. Your jeans. His trousers. Your green thong lay nestled in his navy blue boxer briefs on the beige carpeting.

He nuzzled you, his lips teasingly gentle as they swept up toward your ear. “Stay just like this?”

You smiled. Your bones had pretty much gone to mush already and moving was the very last thing you wanted to do. In fact, you didn’t care if you ever moved again. “Like this?”

“Exactly like this.” He rose onto one elbow, the bed dipping as he leaned over to brush your cheek with a kiss. You shifted, and with a soft laugh, he came down against you, his lips claiming yours in a soft kiss. 

He caught your bottom lip with gentle teeth and playfully tugged on it before breaking the kiss. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, easing off you to slide to the edge of the bed. 

You rolled over onto your left side to just watch him and as he rose, your sigh became more difficult to hold back. He was absolutely beautiful and you didn't even try to pretend you weren’t staring as you rolled onto your stomach, bunched the pillow beneath your cheek, and just admired the view. He had the nicest ass you’d ever seen and you heard the smile in his voice as he said, “I know you’re watching me.”

“Can’t help it. That ass is a work of art.”

“A work of art. I’m not so sure of that.” His laugh rolled toward you. It wasn’t a sound you heard often, although lately, he seemed to laugh a bit more, which was nice to both see and hear. His laugh was sexy, almost seductive, low and throaty. 

“How long are you in town for?” He asked this over the sound of the bathroom faucet running. Water splashed, then the taps squeaked as he shut them off.

“Friday. I’m supposed to fly to our Toronto office for meetings next week.”

He emerged, leaning against the doorjamb, drying his hands with a fluffy white hotel towel. You tried not to stare, but it was impossible. He was in fine physical shape, muscled but not musclebound, his arms and legs wrapped with just enough to make him look fit. You tried not to let your gaze linger on the scar along his lower right abdomen. Ex-military, special ops. He’d seen and done things that would give you nightmares. They gave him nightmares, he admitted. You wouldn’t know. Stolen hours in hotel rooms were how you spent your time with him. You’d spent several nights with him, but the sex must’ve worn him out to the point where he dreamed nothing, for he’d never had a nightmare in your company. Only his wife knew about his nightmares.

You didn’t want think about that. You never thought you would ever be the other woman, that you would willingly make love with another woman’s husband, and yet there you were. His wife didn't know about you. She had no idea you even existed, as far as you knew. You knew about her, though. You knew John wasn’t happy. The first time he’d told you he wanted to leave his wife, you called bullshit on him and told him to let you know when he actually did it.

So far? Nothing.

Still, you were there with him. You had no choice. He’d gotten under your skin in a way no man ever had before. Maybe you were the greatest fool walking, but there you were, in a hotel in New York, high above the city. A nearly-empty bottle of champagne sat crookedly in an ice bucket that held more water than ice now. It stood on the table, along with two now-empty champagne flutes, one ringed with your MAC Ruby Woo red lipstick. Together, you did your best to totally wreck a bed far more comfortable than the one you normally slept in and your body still sang John’s praises, albeit more softly now.

“What time?” He crossed over to stretch out beside you. His dark hair poked in all angles from your frenzied fingers sliding through it not too long ago, and his eyes—his piercing steel blue eyes—were soft as they met yours. 

He reached for you, his hand coming to rest on the curve of your left hip. Just that simple touch was enough to send a shiver through you. His thumb grazed along the rise, his fingers pressing into the side of your left cheek. 

“I have a ten AM flight. Why? I thought you were leaving tonight.”

He nodded. “I am. My flight leaves at eight tonight. I’m due in London for at ten o’clock meeting tomorrow morning.”

London, where he lived. With his wife. With their daughter. 

You didn't want to think about it.

You sighed. “I’ll miss you.”

“Me, too.” His hand slid higher, along the slope of your waist. “But, let’s not talk about it now. We still have a few hours and there is something else I’d rather be doing with them.”

“Again? Talk about stamina.”

“With you?” He winked. “Always. You bring it out in me.” 

That wink did the oddest thing to you. It twisted your insides into such delicious knots, knots that only drew tighter when he leaned in toward you, his lips just brushing yours ever so lightly. He lifted his hand from your waist, his fingers instead curling at your nape to tug you closer. His lips parted. He traced the edge of your lips with the tip of his tongue and when you opened your mouth, his tongue filled it. Glided along yours in a long, teasing silken caress. 

He kissed slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly explored your mouth as if it was the first time he’d kissed you and not the thousandth. His kiss made your heart pick up its pace, set thousands of butterflies free in your belly to beat their wings madly inside you, as they had since the very first time. You’d met when you shared a cab from Penn Station to Times Square on a rainy morning during rush hour. By the time you reached your destination, you’d given him your number. The next morning, he’d called you. You met for lunch and an hour later, you were just as you are now. 

He eased you onto your back, the hand that had been on your nape now swept down along the side of your neck. His long fingers brushed along the inner curve of your right breast. He cupped it, slowly sliding his thumb about your nipple. It shriveled into a tight bead, each flick against it sent heat radiating through you. He caught that nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Rolled it. Tugged it. And with each caress, your body ached for him anew. The dampness between your legs grew, your arousal slick and hot. 

He broke the kiss to pepper softer ones over your chin and down your neck, which bowed of its own. The tip of his tongue flicked against you. He nipped you with gentle teeth, each bite playful and made you shiver beneath him.

His lips were gentle against your right breast, his tongue not so much as he flicked it against your nipple, which beaded up beneath the rough flesh of his tongue licking around it. He caught the bead in careful teeth to tug, and you couldn't hold back your moan as heat swirled through you once more. 

You shivered when he tugged a little harder, but then released it to sweep his tongue over it, around it, to draw it back into his mouth for a teasing pull. Your eyes closed, your fingernails grazing along his back, up to his shoulder blades, over his nape, his scalp, until he moved beyond your reach. 

“John…” Your breathless protest floated to your lips of its own, a sensual warmth flooding you as he swept his lips along your so very sensitive. No bit of you went ignored. He kissed and tasted every inch of skin, much to your delight. He awakened every last pleasure point in your body, and took his time bringing them all to life. 

“My beautiful girl,” he murmured, trailing those feathery kisses down over your stomach now, over your hip, down along the inside of your left thigh. You let out a breathless laugh at the tingling flurrying thorough you.

He lifted his head to meet your eyes, and there were no words to describe how he looked at you, how that look made you feel. His eyes were heavy-lidded and smoky blue with desire. They were the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen, and you wished you could just tell him how you felt, because each time you were together, you fell a bit deeper in love with him. 

But you held back because you had no way of knowing how he felt. True, he flew into New York every chance he could, and more than once, you’d visited him in London as well. But, he’d never given any indication that your affair was anything more than physical and while that had been fine at first, you weren’t so sure any more. Still, you tried not to think about that, but instead concentrated on the exquisite pleasure he sent sweeping thorough you.  

You offered up a sleepy smile. He made you feel so languid, as if your limbs were only seconds away from becoming absolute mush. You reached for him, let your fingers slip into the dark hair that contrasted so perfectly with his pale skin. It was far softer than should be allowed, and just long enough for you to twist your fingers in and tug when he did something delightful to you. It was wonder he wasn’t half-bald by now, you pulled it so much. 

He kissed down over your mound, nuzzling the curls, breathing deep and exhaling with, “I love your scent, the way you taste… I love the feel of you moving against my lips, my tongue…”

“Mmm…” It was the only coherent thought you had, the only sound you could muster. Your eye closed as he delved into those curls, his breath hot and as much of a caress against your aching flesh as his hands or his lips. His tongue slipped through your folds in a slow, hot, silken caress, glided along aching flesh slick with need. He traced a slow circle about your clit, just barely touched it, and even so, you couldn’t hold back your moan of pleasure. Impossible. Pleasure engulfed you, wrapped all around you, burned through you. Your back arched, your fingers twisted in the sheet beneath you, in the soft linen pillowcase cradling your head. Everything inside you twisted as well, kinked and knotted until you thought you would go absolutely crazy with the need to have him.

But he took his time with you. John never rushed. He moved slowly, leisurely, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. As if he was afraid he’d miss a bit of skin in need of touching or kissing, that he’d miss a sensation to send coursing through you. That there was just an iota of pleasure he might have missed giving you. 

And you savored every last kiss, every last caress, every last pass of his lips, his tongue, sweeping along your skin. You could never get enough of them, of him. And he certainly seemed to feel that way about you.

His fingers grazed your inner thighs. Heat became fire. Fire became an inferno. He eased his hands beneath your thighs, curving them about to you spread your legs wider, his whispered, “Good girl,” a blast of sensual heat against your too-sensitive skin, “open wide and let me have you completely.”

You bit down hard on your bottom lip as his tongue slipped over that swollen bead nestled within your damp curls. He caught it, sucked gently at it, laved over it with slow, rough strokes. Everything inside you knotted sharply. Your core clenched, started a slow melt as he tugged at your clit. You had to touch him, shoving a hand into his hair. It was only barely long enough for you to grip, for you to direct him to where his touch felt the best. He let you guide him, and when he found your sweet spot and your hips bolted up to meet him, he held you there and tortured you mercilessly and nothing could possibly feel as amazing as this.

“Ooooh…” You arched beneath him, the fire licking along your calves, your thighs. It twisted your insides, melted your core to the point where you felt it spill from you. He moved faster against your clit now, swirling about it, using the flat of his tongue roughly against it. He stroked and teased, tortured and loved you until your entire body pulsed with the need to come. 

Your fingers twisted harder in his hair, your, “John!” came husky and raw as your orgasm took root. The knots grew tighter, the spicy hot ecstasy rushed toward you like a tidal wave, roared through your ears, heated your blood until it was almost smoke in your veins. The pleasure was all consuming, fiery and white-hot. You arched your hips hard, rocked against him as you pleaded with him to make you come already.

He moved faster still, and then shifted just enough to ease a hand from beneath you. His finger slid inside you and he crooked it just so to hit the sweetest spot in your entire body. With that first stroke, you came undone with a powerful flash and sensual explosion that had you crying out as he shattered you with his finger, his tongue, as he drew out the fiery bliss until you practically sobbed from it, your back arching, your body writhing beneath him, pulsing and clenching all around him. He drained you, left you pleading for mercy as he wrung every last drop of sinful delight from you. 

You tugged on his hair, and he obliged, coming up over you to seize your lips with his. You tasted your release on his lips, on his tongue as it plunged deep into your mouth, and you shuddered against him as his cock slid through the slickness of your thighs, into the wet heat between them. You tried to urge him onto his back, but he refused to yield, catching you by one wrist to push you away. 

“Not this time, love,” he growled in your ear, stretching toward the box on the nightstand. He plucked out a condom and rocked back, tore open the packet with impatient fingers, pulled the condom out, and just tossed the packet aside.

You watched him unroll it over himself. His cock was utterly beautiful, thick and veined, with a wide head already leaking silky fluid. He smoothed it into place and came back to you, guiding himself to your opening. He teased you, smiling as you whimpered with each gentle rub of him against your far-too sensitive clit. He coaxed out a smaller orgasm, smiling as you breathed, “Oh, yes….please…”

That whispered plea became a sharp inhale as he thrust and filled you with one powerful surge. You bent your legs, your knees tight against his sides, your fingernails digging into his back as he moved. He was slow at first, but not for long, his thrusts harder and deeper and more demanding. He pounded into you, and you squeezed him in returned, your walls greedy and tight.

“Oh, love…” He thrust hard, then slowed and with a smile, pulled free of you, bent to kiss you, and whispered, “Turn over…”

You did as he said, smiling into the pillow as he came flush against you. You parted your legs, biting down on your bottom lip when he slid an arm about your waist. You came up onto your knees, holding your breath as as he pressed against you, pushed into you until just the head of cock was inside you. He went still, his fingers tensing against you as you smiled and offered up a slow squeeze.

You relaxed just a little and he pushed deeper into you, slowly,  made sure you felt every single sensation, every single ripple of wicked pleasure that came from him teasing you this way. Your body wanted to devour him, to rock back into him and take him in one swift motion. But at the same time, his sensual torture was just too delicious to hurry along. 

He moved slowly, a low moan falling from his lips as he filled you inch by sinfully thick, amazing inch. Little by little, you accepted him, accommodated him, and you actually shivered against him as your body yielded to his invasion.

His fingers curved into your hips with his first slow, teasing thrust. His hands tightened on your hips, and he held you still as he seated himself fully. You couldn’t hold back your cry at the fiery pleasure scorching through you. Hot and sweet, it tingled its way through you from where your bodies met and radiated outwards, flooding you until you wanted to cry from the sheer bliss of having this man inside you.

You rocked back to meet him, only to have him lean over, press a kiss into the middle of your back, and whisper, “Be a good girl and stay still for me. I promise you, darling,” he slowly withdrew until only the head of his cock remained inside you, “you will get what you so desperately want.”

“Not fair…” you managed to grit as he once more slowly filled you. You hummed all around him, your walls gripping him, squeezing him, as if you could possibly keep him from slipping back out of you.

“Not fair?” A hint of teasing wove into his growl and his lips brushed your shoulder blade this time. “You get to come as many times as I want you to. I get to do so only once.”

You drew in a deep breath and peered at him over your shoulder. “I’m so glad I’m a woman.”

“So am I.” He winked and the sly, seductive smile he offered up made you clench around him. That in turn had him closing his eyes, a muscle leaping in his jaw as he gritted, “Do that again, darling…”

You did and a low moan hovered at his lips, leaked thorough them, and he thrust again, harder this time. It swept the breath from your lungs as his sudden surge sent fire racing through you. He drew back, gripped your hips, thrust again. 

Drew back.

Another powerful thrust.

Each one came harder and with each one, you gripped him, squeezed him, held him as best you could, smiling at the low, rumbling moan he sent skimming along your back. 

He moved faster now. His thrusts came a bit more hurried, but nowhere near the frenzied hammering they’d become in only a few more minutes. For now, you savored the feel of him gliding inside you, slick and hot. His control was amazing, each thrust powerful and steady. He tightened his hold on you if you moved even a little, and slowed, murmuring, “Hold still, love…”

“Oh… please let me move…” The words were out before you could stop them and you shivered as he suddenly thrust hard into you. 

“Not yet.”

“John…”

“Oh, Christ…” he whispered, offering up another hard thrust, “you feel incredible…” 

“Ummm…” It was all you could force through your lips as he thrust again, harder still this time. You rocked back to meet him and this time, he let you. His fingers tightened into your skin, but now he urged to you move, to meet each thrust, to send him deeper still. 

Fire filled you, twisted and ribboned through your veins as his control slipped away. Each thrust now came harder, deeper than the last. His fingers bit into your hips as he surged again. You felt him swell inside you, a sure sign his orgasm bore down upon him. 

He growled your name now, his voice low and husky and raw. He surged deep, his hips pumping furiously as you quivered around him, the achy need for release spiraling through you once more. Without thinking, you shifted your weight to one arm, your free hand sliding into your slick, finding your swollen clit. You stroked it gently at first, but then as he thrust harder still, you went to work, teasing it until stars danced before your eyes and your entire body tingled with the need to come yet again. 

“Oh, shit… yes…” His moan practically bounced off the walls around you as you tensed around him, pulsing and humming about his cock as you teetered on the verge of coming yet again. You were breathless, trembling with need, aching for him. No man ever made you feel a fraction of the pleasure that he did, and you wanted to come with him. 

“Oh, love,” he breathed, “you are so fucking hot… Bloody hell, I can feel you coming…”

“John…” Your fingers moved faster now, the pleasure radiating through you as you neared that peak. Between his cock filling you and your fingers teasing you, your entire body throbbed and sparked like a live wire dancing on the ground. You trembled. You shuddered. The dam burst, the knots erupted, and fiery bliss flooded you as you cried out and rocked hard against him to draw it out as long as you could. 

He arched hard, buried himself deep inside you, ground up against you as he came, his fingers digging into your hips as you pulsed around him. The sweet bliss of mutual climax had you moaning as one, and when he finished, his cheek came to rest against your back as he whispered, “I love you.”

Your eyes were so heavy-lidded, you had no choice but to let them close as you sank back against the bed. You fought to breathe, to keep from being swept away completely by the fiery pleasure still singing through you. He gently came down flush against you, his heart beating with enough force to reverberate through your body as well. His breath came in hot blasts against your sweat-dampened skin and between the race of your heart and the way your pulse roared so loudly thorough your ears, you knew you couldn't have heard him right. “Wh-what?”

“I said, I love you.” His hands skimmed along your arms, covered yours, and he linked fingers with you as he dipped to brush a kiss along your cheek. His whisper caressed your cheek like a gentle breeze. “You are the best thing that happened to me and I just want to be with you. No more sneaking about. No more hotel rooms. I want to take you out, for us to go places together—dinner, vacation, I don’t care where, but I want to do it. I want to fall asleep with you and when I open my eyes, oh, I want you to be the first thing I see…”

“The first thing you see…” You pressed your lips together, the stinging in your eyes had nothing to do with fatigue, just as the hitch in your voice had nothing to do with being out of breath still. You’d thought this moment would never come and thought you’d accepted it. But, to hear him now, to know he wanted a future with you… you could do no more than swallow hard and whisper, “That will be tough, you know. Seeing as how I don’t think your wife will like that.”

“No. No, it won’t be tough at all. I’ve served Diane with divorce papers.” He grunted softly as he withdrew from you and sank flat against the bed alongside you. 

You did the same, stretching out on your side to face him. “What? When?”

“Last week.” He propped his head on his fist and offered up a slight smile. “It won’t be speedy, mind you. But, she won’ t fight me on it. She’s no happier than I am. It will be better for Lexie as well. We’ll all be better off for it in the end.”

You smiled. He spoke of his daughter often and with all of the pride of any father, and it always made you a little sad that you’d never get to meet her. But now… everything would change. “You think she’ll be okay?”

He nodded. “I think she’ll be fine. Kids are resilient, or so I’m told. And I look forward to introducing her to you.”

“Intro—introducing us?”

“Yeah.” He leaned over to kiss you, then rolled away to rise and go back into the bathroom. Over the rush of water, he said, “I mean, it won’t be for while yet, but, of course I want you to meet. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve never said anything about a future,” you told him, sitting up and shifting to the edge of the bed. “You’ve never said how you felt or anything until just now.”

He turned off the taps and appeared in the doorway once more. “I love you. You must know that by now. I fly halfway around the world on a regular basis to be with you whenever I possibly can.”

“You do it for the sex.”

“Well, no one could blame me if I did, you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “The sex alone would be worth it, love. But so are you worth it, even without the sex.” 

As he spoke, he crossed over to stand in front of you, then crouched, his hand coming to rest on your knee. His brows knit as he said, “Of course, I’d be lying if I said I didn't care if you didn't love me back.”

“John,” you reached for him, catching his sandpapery cheeks in your hands, “I’ve loved you since the cab ride to Times Square. Do you think I fuck every guy I meet an hour into my first date with him?”

His eyes fairly sparkled in a way you’d never seen before and his smile reached all the way up to them. “It’s still nice to hear, you know.”

“I love you,” you told him, leaning over to brush his lips with yours. 

He caught you around the waist and fell back, pulling you with him onto the carpet. His arms wrapped tight about you and his lips brushed yours as he whispered, “You’re mine now, you know.”

“Strangely,” you whispered back, “I’m okay with that.”

“Good.” His arms tightened about you, his lips met yours, and when he drew back, he murmured, “I love you.”

You smiled down at him, brushing his spiky black hair away from his face. “I love you, too.”

His blue eyes actually almost sparkled. “I do like how that sounds when you say it, love.”

Chapter Text

He saw two of her. 

Not that it was a terrible thing, mind you, for Isabella was an utterly lovely woman, especially with the fire glinting along the strands of her dark red hair, which made it look as alive as those flames. The wild curls fell about her face and with each movement, they shifted this way and that. Oh, she was a striking woman, indeed and he’d have to be mad to complain about seeing two of her. 

That is, if there were two of her. Unfortunately, a bit too much wine was the cause of his seeing double and while she was a thing of beauty, he could certainly do without the room tilting the way it kept doing. Left. Right. Forward. Back. Blast it all, there was no rhyme nor reason to the pitch. He tried to guess which way it would lean next, only to find he’d guessed poorly. He stumbled more than once, and every time he did and tried to right himself, he only served to make matters worse and stumble in the other direction instead. It was a good thing she’d set the fire on his hearth for him, if he’d tried, he’d have burned both himself and his home to the ground. 

She’d seen him home from her tavern, insisted upon making certain he arrived without incident and in one piece. It was not the first time, but it was also something he did rarely, for he dislike giving up any modicum of control, no matter for how short a time period. But he’d needed this escape this night, had needed to just lose himself, even for just a bit. And he’d needed to be fussed over the way Isabella would fuss over him. He would hear about it the next time he paid a visit to the Wild Gander Tavern, but he didn't mind her scolding him, either. He knew, despite her aggravation with him, underneath was concern for him and it was rare for anyone to show concern for him. She should only know how he treasured it.

How he treasured her as well.

He tripped over his own two feet trying to make it from the table upon which he leaned to the chair in which he wished to sit. His right boot caught the heel of his left, he stumbled, and veered sharply left. He’d probably have gone headfirst into the hearth, had she not snagged him by the elbow to halt his progress.

“Take care,” her voice was soft, but brooked no argument, “I’ve no desire to burn alive because you knock the fire from its grate. Now, will you please heed me and sit?”

He scowled. “I tried to sit.”

“So I saw. Allow me to help you.”

He nodded, offering no resistance as she helped him straightened, then with her hand on his arm and the other firmly against the small of his back, she guided him to the chair that he’d aimed for the first time. 

A low sigh bubbled to his lips as he leaned heavily against her. She let out a soft grunt, but managed to hold him up. Perhaps now the spinning would stop. He let his eyes close. They stung with fatigue and closing them offered relief from that.

Unfortunately it also made the spinning far worse. 

He stumbled, only to have her suck in a sharp breath and tighten her hold on him to keep him upright. “Take care, Sir Guy,” she gritted. “You are quite heavy, you know.”

He forced his heavy lids to open just as Isabella went to work prying his fingers from the wine bottle. She freed it and tried to help him into the chair. “You should probably just go to sleep now. Hopefully, you will be sober come morning.”

“What are you—give me that back. I cannot believe you did that, taking a man’s drink from him. I’ve not finished with it yet,” he insisted, lunging for the bottle, only to have the room shift to the right on him. He stumbled, staggered into the chair he’d aimed for, and held onto it for dear life. “Stop moving the room on me, witch.”

“Call me witch again and I’ll brain you with this,” she shook the bottle at him, “and do not make me tell you again. And besides, this was my wine that you absconded with from my tavern and trust me, you’ve had more than enough.”

“Brain me. You would, wouldn’t you?” He managed to maneuver into the chair without missing the seat, and offered up a silent sigh of relief. The room didn't move quite so badly now. “Why are you even here?”

“Because I would have felt terrible, had something awful befallen you because you were too sotted to defend yourself, that’s why. Although,” she brushed a long, wayward curl out of her face, “it would serve you right. How much wine did you actually drink?”

He peered up at her. With the fire behind her, the glow about her was like an aura, giving her a mystical air that only added to her beauty. Her dark eyes glinted like polished onyx, her hair shimmered with copper and gold streaks. 

“More than I should have and you were right to take that bottle from me,” he admitted with a loose bob of his head. The movement made his gut twist, brought a sour taste flooding his mouth. He swallowed hard against it, willed the nausea into oblivion, and went still. 

“Do you wish me to leave,” she murmured, “so that you might get some sleep?”

“No. That—that won’t be necessary. I have no desire to move at the moment, and think it best if I remain perfectly still. When I do that, the room slows down some.”

“Slows down?” A furrow appeared between her delicately arched dark brows.

“Slows down.” He nodded, then held up a finger to spin in a wide circle. “Like this.”

The furrow smoothed, her forehead pale and unlined once more. She peered up at him, offering up an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Her dark eyes held his easily. She didn't fear him, the way so many others seemed to. She was kind to him, always had a bright smile or easy laugh and her laugh was melodic when it rang out. The sort of laugh that caused heads to swivel in her direction and smile, its infectiousness encouraging all around her to join, even if they hadn’t an inkling what was so amusing.

He found more and more excuses to linger in her tavern. To sit back in the far corner and simply watch her. She laughed easily, her teeth flashing in the candlelight night after night, and greeted her customers all by name. She was warm and ebullient, and people were just drawn to her. 

In short, she was everything he was not. 

But she never treated him as if he was unwelcome. She would take him to task if she saw him being what she felt was unnecessarily cruel or cold, and at first, her gall grated on him, but as time wore on, like water running endlessly over stone, his façade with her eroded until most of it washed away.

This wasn't the first time she’d seen him home, that she insisted on accompanying him because in his inebriated state, she told him calmly, anyone could happen upon him and rough him up. The fact that she actually cared enough to risk her own safety touched a part of him he thought was long dead. And when thy’d reached his humble dwelling, she’d insisted on coming in with him, to make certain he didn’t fall face down in the fire or worse. 

Now, he stared up at her, almost entranced by the way the firelight shone upon her hair. This was the first time he’d ever seen the glorious mass of curls let loose to spill down her back, to tumble over her shoulders. Normally, she wore it skinned back, tucked away to keep from falling in her eyes as she worked. And she should only know how many times he’d imagined coming up behind her and tugging the pins from it to sent it spilling like a river of fire down her back.

He had to tell her. Had to tell her the things he kept penned up inside him, the things he feared would frighten her or worse—would make her laugh at him. If he didn't now, when being fortified with wine also fortified him with courage, he would never be able to tell her. 

“You are so beautiful. Has anyone told you that?” He blurted it out without preamble and held his breath as she set the nearly-empty bottle on the table and came back to crouch before him. She lifted his right foot to unlace his boot, frowning as the leather cord gave her a fight.

“You are drunk and babbling,” she replied with a smile. “And even the ugliest of hags looks appealing when one’s senses are dulled by wine.”

“I am and I am, and that is true some of the time,” he agreed with an exaggerated bob of his head. “But not this time. I am in love with you, Belle. I am. And I have been for a very long time.” 

“You are no such thing.” She tugged the boot free, setting it alongside his chair. Resting her forearm against her thigh, she just gazed up at him. “I am not even so certain you like me most of the time.”

“Of course I like you, Bella. And it’s been far more than simply liking you for some time now, I’ve just have not the courage to say it sober. But now… now is different,” he told her, leaning closer, his elbow braced on his thigh. He saw only one of her now, thankfully, and he just wished to bend to her and kiss her full lips. To kiss her. And hold her. And carry her off to his bed. 

But, when he tried to do just that, to lean in for that kiss, the room sloped to his right and he started, grabbing the upholstered arm to steady himself. It wouldn’t do to topple out of the blasted chair and land on her. She was nearly a foot shorter and probably half his weight and he’d crush her into powder if he wasn't careful.

Her hand came to rest atop his forearm, a soft heat seeping into his arm, through leather, through the soft linen doublet he wore beneath his gambeson, into his skin. He yearned to cover that small hand with his, to curl his fingers about it and bring it to his lips. He wanted to trail kisses along her slender arm to where her shoulder curved into her neck, up toward her ear. He wanted to taste her lips for himself, to see if they were as sweet as they looked, as sweet as he dreamed they be. 

Somehow, he had the feeling his dreams wouldn’t come close to doing her justice.

His room felt decidedly warmer and he shifted to dispel some of the heat. It didn’t help all that much, as the fire crackling on the hearth had nothing to do with how warm he felt. That came entirely from within his own body. 

Her fingers tightened over his arm, but then she drew her hand from him. “That is because I do things such as this when you’ve had too much to drink. If I were not here, you’d be lying face down on the side of the road somewhere between my tavern and this house.”

He couldn’t help his grin. “You served me, so at its heart, my state is your doing.”

She let out a soft laugh that teased his ears with its silver melody. “I’ll remind you of that when I take your next bottle away from you.”

He sank back in his chair, crossing his arms as he lifted his left foot now. “Do so. I will remember this conversation.”

“You will not. You haven’t yet. You should only know how many nights you’ve pledged your love to me, Sir Guy, only to forget those words when the sun comes up the next morning.”

He shook his head. “Ah, there you are wrong, Bella. I speak true now, and come sunrise, I cower and hide from you, from my own feelings, because I know why you do this for me. I know why you come to my aid on nights such as this.”

“Is that so? Then why do I?”

“Because yours is a good heart. You pity a wretch like me.”

“You are, indeed, a wretch. And if I didn’t pity you, I shudder to think what would happen to you, staggering back from the tavern on your own. You’ve not many friends here, you know.”

He knew. He had no friends. And that was fine with him. He needed no one. He wanted no one.

Except her, that is.

He lurched forward and caught her by the hand before she could stand and turn to go. “I mean what I say, Bella. Stay with me. Pass the night with me. Let me show you now what I’ll not be able to put into words come the morrow.”

Her fingers curled about his, her hand a fraction of the size as his. He gazed down at it, her fingernails different lengths, ragged at their tips, her palm rough and dry. But as her hand lay again his, the heat returned with a vengeance, seeped into him, eased some of the haze wrapped tightly about his brain. He wanted to feel those hands on him, wanted to let his own roam over hers. It almost hurt, how much he wanted her. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Isabella.

“Sir Guy,” she began, her husky voice low, her eyes wide and unblinking as she held his gaze, “you do not know what you’re saying.”

“I do know.” He closed his fingers about hers, brought her hand to his lips. Her palm was rough, by not so much the back of her hand. “I finally have the courage to say what I’ve felt for some time now, ever since you tossed me from your tavern into the rain.”

“I never tossed you. I was trying to close for the night and you refused to leave. I had no other choice.”

“And now you do.” He carefully rose onto unsteady legs and pulled on that hand. She pressed her lips together as he drew her near. A hint of honey teased his nose. She offered no resistance as he pulled her into his arms, flush against him, and bent to brush her lips with his. 

Hers were soft and sweet, tasting of claret and currants, and she didn’t fight him. His heart skipped a beat, his belly twisted into heady knots, as she parted her lips and the tip of her tongue traced along his bottom lip. He slid his arms about her waist, splayed his hands across her back, and couldn’t help but sigh as her fingers slid up into his hair, tingling along his scalp.

“Stay with me,” he whispered when she pulled back. “Don’t go, but share my bed with me if only for this one night.”

“Only for one night? Do you take me for a woman of no virtue?” A teasing smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “And think carefully before you answer, lest you wish me to geld you right here and now.”

“You would never do such a thing.”

“Are you so certain?”

As she spoke, she slid one hand between them, down into the darkness between his legs, and he jumped as she cupped it against him. A breathless laugh rose to his lips. “Take care, I’m rather fond of them, you know.”

“I’m sure I will be, too,” came her pert reply as she pressed up into him with a gentleness that sent a hint of fire ribboning through him. “Now, are you going to stand there, or are you going to sweep me up and take me to bed, where you’ll promise to make an honest woman of me?”

He pulled back to stare down at her. “Is that what you want?”

“I want you, Sir Guy. And I have for a very long time.” 

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes,” she told him with a slow nod. “Have you seen me walk any other man home when they’ve had too much? Let them fall to ruffians. I cannot bring myself to care. But you? I’d fend them off with my bare hands to make certain you reached home safely.”

Then, she reached up to snake an arm about his neck, and when she pulled him down to meet her kiss, she whispered, “I do love you, you know. And I only hope you recall this conversation when you open sober eyes come the morning.”

“I will, love,” he whispered back, his lips brushing hers. “Promise.” 

Chapter Text

“You’ve got to get over this, you know. You’re talking like an absolute fool.”

“Get over it? I’d love to.” Ray tilted his beer bottle up to drain the last drops from it. Lowering it, he added, “But I don’t know how, so if you’ve any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.”

Fester drummed his fingers against the bar’s scuffed top. In addition to the scratches and dents from years of glasses and shakers and mugs being thunked against it, old water rings dulled the surface here and there. It only added to the pub’s already broken-in look, actually made it feel homey and warm. “Can’t say I have, darling. Not all of us have your women problems, you know. Let me see if I have this straight, she wants no commitment, no hassles, just sex. And you’re free to see any other women, and as many other women as you can possibly accommodate?”

Ray nodded. “That’s it.”

“So…” Fester pursed his lips, “where’s the problem?”

Ray bit back a sigh. He really should’ve known better. Normally, Fester was a great sounding board, gave solid advice, and if nothing else, was just a willing ear. But this time? He was as useful as a freezer at the North Pole. “The problem is, it’s not enough.”

“Not enough? All the sex you could want, with your goddess and any other woman you want as well? Yes, darling, we should all have such problems.” Fester didn't even try to make it seem he wasn't laughing. He signaled to the bartender to bring them another and then turned back to Ray. “You have what most of us dream about. Freedom to see any other women you wish, while this utterly hot goddess just wants you to have sex with her from time to time. Again, you’ll forgive me if I don’t see what the problem is.”

“You know, at one time, I’d have agreed with you.” Ray just stared at the bottles lined up on the bar. “It seemed like a great idea at the time. But that was then and this is now and things… things change…”

“Ah… you’ve gone and fallen for her, haven’t you.”

“I suppose I have.” He tugged the bowl of peanuts closer and dug in. “She’s always been there, always someone I could count on and now… now I want her to always be there, entirely. Her and her alone.”

“So,” Fester shrugged, “talk to her and tell her.”

“I can’t.” Ray let out a mirthless laugh. “She’d never let me hear the end of it.”

The bartender pulled another Guinness for Fester and set the glass before him. “Then you, my friend, have a decision to make. How much do you want her all to yourself?”

“More than I want to share her, or see anyone else.”

“Then tell her. You’ve nothing to lose.”

Ray drummed his fingers against the side of the bar. Fester was right. If he said nothing, he’d stew in jealousy, always wondering who she was with and what they were doing. In the end, he’d have to cut ties with her because he’d go insane otherwise. 

On the other hand, if he said something, she might tell him no. In which case, he’d be no worse off than he was now. Then he’d have to cut ties with her for making an utter ass of himself to her.

Of course, there was also the possibility of her confessing to feeling the same as he’d been. 

In which case, all bets were off and no ties would be severed. 

What did he have to lose? 

Friends with benefits started out great, but now… now he wanted to tell her how he felt. Wanted to tell her he loved her. That he’d been in love with her practically from the moment they met. He was comfortable with her. She made him laugh. Made him feel like someone actually gave a damn about him. 

And there was no one else in the world with whom he’d rather spend his time. 

With that, he eased off his barstool and tossed two twenties onto the bar itself. “Wish me luck.”

“You know I do, darling. And remember, I get to be your best man when you marry her.”

Ray grinned. “If she doesn’t kick me to the curb, you’ve a deal, mate.”

Her flat was only a block from the Winslow Pub and by the time he’d reached the front steps, his heart hammered his ribs with such force, he thought he might actually pass out. His mouth went dry as he stared down at the button alongside her last name. He felt sick with dread, with apprehension.

With anticipation.

It’s now or never, Levine.

His hand trembled, hovering halfway to the bank of buttons. 

All he had to do was push the one for her flat. 

Chapter Text

Night after night, you lay next to your husband, staring up into the darkness while he snored softly beside you. You knew he hadn’t wanted to marry you. He’d made no secret of that. No, it was your family’s money that tipped his hand, no matter how much he hated that it had. He was a proud man, your Mr. Thornton. Proud and stubborn and he had not wanted to be bought, as he saw it, by your family. But, if the Marlborough Mills were to remain up and running, he had little choice.

Of course, no one asked you how you felt about being bartered to this man the way you had been. Your father didn't care, you were merely another commodity to him. Mr. Thornton was far too busy grumbling about how his life had been so gravely upended that it seemed he barely took notice of you.

And you’d looked so forward to your wedding night. Your husband was a fine figure of a man, tall and handsome and amazingly elegant. He’d kissed the back of your hand once and your heart nearly stopped at the sensation he sent rippling through you. Of course, that was before he’d needed your father’s help, before he’d found himself burdened with a wife he did not want. 

Your wedding night was the only time he’d touched you in a husbandly manner. He’d kissed you deeply, soothed you when you felt the sharp, stinging pain of surrendering your virginity to him, whispered your name into your ear when he found his pleasure and shared it with you as best he could. 

You fell asleep that night in his arms, a smile on your face and hope in your heart. Perhaps you’d worried for nothing. Perhaps he wasn’t as unhappy as you’d thought. 

That joy lasted until the next next afternoon for it was then that you heard him admit he did not want you and he never had. After supper, he’d gone into his study and a while later, you’d overheard him in his study, deep in conversation with his mill’s foreman, Mr. Higgins. You’d been bringing in the evening’s post when you heard their voices, and you smiled. They sounded as if they were friends with one another. Mr. Thornton even laughed a bit. It wasn't a sound you heard often, and that was quite the shame, for your husband had a very enticing laugh, low and husky and rumbling. It made you smile and you didn't even know what they found so amusing.

You’d lifted your hand to knock on the door that wasn’t quite closed all the way, and that was when you heard it. 

Or rather, you’d heard him.

“How do I tell her,” Mr. Thornton said, his deep voice like a roll of summer thunder, “how do I tell her, ‘I’ve never loved you’ now?’ I should have done it way before now, before the wedding. And I should have made myself very clear to her.”

“Just tell her,” came Mr. Higgins’ response, his own voice not quite as deep as his employer’s, held a hint of sympathy in it, “and I am certain she will understand. She really has no choice now, does she? What’s done is done. You are married and there is no undoing it.”

You’d moved away from the door then, opting to leave the day’s post on the escritoire just outside his study. And since that moment, you’d waited, breathless, your heart racing ahead of itself each time your gaze alit upon him. It wasn’t fair that he’d already decided he’d never loved you, when you’d had already lost your heart to him. And it wasn't simply that he was divinely handsome, with thick black hair, fine proud features, and the most piercing blue eyes you’d ever seen. No, his face was pleasant to look upon, but you’d seen him with his sister, his mother, the children of his workers, and knew his heart was a good one. He was kind and considerate with everyone. And when he’d loved you in your marriage bed, you thought—for a moment—he loved you in more than the physical sense. 

But you were apparently wrong. 

And win the days that passed since you’d overheard this, you felt lost. Adrift. Felt as if he wished you were anywhere but in his house. You rather felt like a stranger who’d turned up on his doorstep seeking refuge and once admitted, simply refused to leave. At supper every evening, he’d ask you how your day was, you made pleasant conversation and then come the end of the meal, he’d vanish into his study until it was time to ready for bed. He’d come above and go about readying for bed while you were already beneath the blankets, your nose in a book. But you paid little heed those words, instead watching him through lowered lashes as he stripped down from the proper gentleman into the man he’d been on your wedding night—his hair not quite so neat any longer, no longer in fine, unwrinkled clothes and cravat. You’d catch a glimpse of the back of his bare thigh, even his foot, and it would twist your insides in ways that were as delicious as they were aggravating. 

You wanted to curve up against him, to rest your head on his chest and trace your fingers thorough the sprinkling of dark hair spread across his warm skin. You wanted to kiss his lips, his neck, perhaps even other parts of his body that made a blush come to your cheeks at the very thought. His body fascinated you to no end and you wished only to explore it and satisfy your curiosity about him.

But you were far too shy to do any of those things. Instead, you waited for him to reach for you, just as he had that night. 

And night after night, he’d lean over, brush your lips with a perfunctory kiss, and whisper, “Good night,” before extinguishing the lamps and sinking into his own pillows. 

“Mr. Thornton?” You managed to whisper into the darkness.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering… would—would you think me terribly forward if I asked you something?”

The linens rustled. Him shaking his head, you thought, and his voice floated to you as he replied, “Not at all.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to muster the courage to say what was on your mind. Why was it so bloody difficult when you’d never had that problem prior to marrying John Thornton? More often than not, your big mouth landed you in hot water, so why were you such a ninny now? What was it about him that made you so bloody tongue-tied and unsure of yourself?

I’ve never loved you.

That was the difference. 

“I was wondering if you preferred lamb or beef for supper tomorrow?”

Silence descended and you clenched one hand into a fist, your fingernails digging into your palm as you silently berated yourself for taking the coward’s way out. 

“Lamb, I suppose.”

“Very well. I will make sure Cook knows.”

“Very well.” A brief silence. “Thank you.”

You stared into the darkness, waiting for the soft snores that meant he’d fallen asleep. But they never came. Steeling yourself, you took another deep breath. “Mr. Thornton?”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if we might… that is… well…”

Linens rustled again and although it was dark, you made out his silhouette as he rolled onto one side, propped up on his elbow. “We might what?”

You forced yourself to look at him. In the darkness, all you saw was the way his eyes glittered thanks to the gaslights beyond your front windows. But you didn't need light to know how he looked at you, his hair would be mussed, his eyes heavy-lidded, and all you wanted to do was reach across and curve your hand against his cheek. His skin would feel like sandpaper, rough with the beginnings of a beard.

“Perhaps we might do as we did on our wedding night?”

He didn't answer right away and you pressed your lips together as you waited, trying to fend off the feeling of utter foolishness. He was probably horrified that you’d ask such a thing. 

But then, he leaned over and his lips just brushed yours. They were as soft as his skin was rough, and teasing, moving slowly against yours, just as they had when he’d kissed you that first time at your wedding.

He pressed you down, onto your back, and as you wound your arms about his neck, he shifted to come over you. Standing, he was roughly a foot taller than you, but lying prone? You aligned perfectly. His hips pressed ever so gently into yours and heat tore through you as if you’d bene struck by lightning.

His lips parted, his tongue slick and slow as it eased between your lips to glide along your tongue. You’d forgotten he liked to kiss this way, and for a moment, you wondered how you could have possible done so? That kiss alone was enough to fire your blood, to heat your desire, and when you slid your fingers up into his hair, he sighed softly into your mouth and pressed his hips into yours once more. You shivered at the gentle, growing pressure of his arousal against you. 

You let your hands skim down over his bare back. He slept dressed only in small clothes, which horrified you that first night, but you’d since come to appreciate. His skin was smooth and hot, and when your fingernails just grazed it, he shivered and gooseflesh rippled along over his ribs. 

He laughed softly, pulling away as he murmured, “I hadn’t realized I was that ticklish before.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, “should I not do that?”

“I didn’t say that, love. Nor would I,” he brushed the tip of your nose with a kiss, then captured your lips again. 

This time, he caught a handful of your nightdress to tug. The cotton skimmed up along your legs, You lifted your hips to free it, and then he drew back to whisk it over your head, letting it fall onto the pillow alongside your head. 

He kissed his way over your chin, down your neck. Heat rippled thorough you as he moved lower, as he swept outward, along the inner curve of your left breast. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as his lips closed about that nipple and the heat became fire. Oh, you remembered this so well from your wedding night. Only tonight, the sensations burning through you were even more wonderful than they had been that night. He teased the nipple he’d caught with the tip of his tongue, flicking against it, swirling around it. Your back arched of its own, your fingers slipping into the soft thickness of his hair, twisting and holding on as he moved lower now. 

Oh, this was even more amazing than you remembered. He peppered teasing kisses along your belly, down across from one hip to the other, and when he lifted his head, your eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that you could see his expression, could see the almost lupine smile on his face as he murmured, “Should I stop, love?”

“Stop? Oh, no, please… I wish you wouldn’t.”

The words shot out before you could stop them and his grin grew even more wolfish. He bent to you, nuzzled the thick curls between you thighs and then…

“Oh!” Your cry bounced off the walls as the tip of his tongue teased you. He moved slowly, the maddening rush of your blood roared through your ears as each stroke brought you closer to the edge of something wonderful, something you’d never felt before. He held you there at the summit and just went you thought you would go mad, he hurled you from it.

You clung to him, your hips rocking to meet him, his name a husky cry on your lips, and when he came up to cover you, his small clothes were lost in the darkness beneath the bedcovers and he ever so gently pushed inside you. 

“Love,” he whispered with his first thrust, “I’ve missed you.”

There was no pain this time. Only the delicious sense of fullness that was him moving inside you. You wrapped around him, meeting each thrust, and whispered, “As have I…”

He smiled down at you then bent to capture your lips. He moved faster now, his thrusts quicker, more powerful, and you felt the tingling sparks of another, sweeter climax. You clung to him, your fingernails biting into his back, dragging out over his ribs as he moaned low in his throat and surged deep. He shuddered, offered a powerful thrust and then—

“Oh…oh… love…” He trembled against you, sinking back to let his head come to rest in the curve of your neck. Your name was a gentle whisper on his lips, which then brushed against your skin. 

You let your eyes close as tears stung them. Only, unlike your wedding night, these weren’t tears of pain. No, this night was far more wonderful.

Or, it would be, if you didn't know what you knew.

Before your courage fled, you whispered, “May I ask you something, Mr. Thornton?”

He lifted his head, his eyes heavy lidded and his smile seductive. “You may. But, if I might? Please, I’d far rather hear my given name on your lips. Especially at moment such as this.”

You smiled up at him. “So, I wasn’t too forward then, in wanting to do this?”

“No,” his low laugh rumbled across your skin like a warm caress, “why would you think that?”

“Because,” you took a deep breath, “I thought perhaps you’d rather not… I mean… that you would rather perhaps… I mean…”

“Love,” he shifted and the fullness inside you dissipated, “please, just tell me what’s on your mind.”

You expected him to roll away from you, to retrieve his small clothes and perhaps fall asleep. You certainly felt drowsy enough to do just that. He had to feel it. He’d expended a great deal of energy just then.

But to your surprise, he reached for you, pulled you into his arms and tightened his about you. You smiled, curving against him, and as you lowered your head to his chest, you let your fingers trail through that dark hair sprinkled across it, just as you wished to do. 

“I thought perhaps you would rather not do… this… with me…”

“Why? Do I look mad?” His arm tightened about you. “There is no one else I would rather do this with than you.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face, and your heart leapt at them. You lifted your head to just look down at him. “What?”

“There isn’t. Why would there be?”

“Well…” You hesitated, drew a deep breath, then blurted, “I—I heard you. Talking to Mr. Higgins. In your study. About a week ago. After supper, remember? He’d come to see you?” 

You waited to see a look of horror cross his face, to see a blush sweep along his cheekbones and for him to stammer and stutter and grow angry about you eavesdropping on his business.

Instead, he just stared up at her with confused eyes and shook his head. “I’m lost, love. What do you mean, you heard me? I remember him being there, we were discussing raises for the laborers, but I’m afraid I don’t recall discussing you with him.”

You nodded, unable to bring yourself to meet his eyes. Instead, you focused your finger, tracing circles across his chest. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was bring the post to you and Mr. Higgins was in your study and you were talking and the door was ajar and so I—”

“Love,” he broke in softly, covering her hand with his to still it against him, “breathe before you swoon.”

A nervous laugh came to your lips and without thinking, you tucked your head against him.  “I apologize… John.”

To your surprise, he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “No need to apologize, but please, tell me what you heard.”

Heat swept through you, only it wasn't the same delicious heat you’d felt when he touched you. This one was far more uncomfortable. “You told him… that is… you were lamenting how you could look me in the eye and tell me you never loved me, that you should have done before the wedding but didn't and now, you couldn’t.”

“I said this?”

You nodded, not looking up, but instead focused your gaze on the hand covering yours, studying the way his long fingers curved perfectly over yours, how right it felt just having him touch you that way. “And you don’t have to worry, Mr. Thorn—John… I didn't expect you to love me.”

He said nothing at first, but eased onto his side to gaze down at you. The hand that had bene covering yours now curved against your cheek, turning your face back to his. You almost could not breathe at the softness in his eyes, at the way his thumb now slid softly along your cheek. 

“You’re wrong, you know,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Those words were not meant for you.”

You stared at him. “What?” 

“Those words. They were not meant for you, but for another.”

“Another suitor?”

He smiled. “In her mind, yes. In mine? No. But, she sent me a missive asking to see me, asking for me to explain to her how I could marry another. But, you needn’t worry, love. I have no desire to be with anyone else.” He leaned in to brush your lips with his, then drew back just far enough to murmur, “All this time, you thought I did?”

“I thought you wished me anywhere but here, that you’d never crossed paths with my father and that you’d had anyone else other than me as your wife.”

You’d held it in for so long, to be able to unburden yourself felt heavenly. At least, it did for a moment. But then you met his gaze, and the intensity of those pale blue eyes made your belly come alive with what felt like a thousand butterflies all flapping their wings at once, which left you breathless and lightheaded at the same time. 

“That is not true,” he murmured, his thumb grazing along your cheekbone. Back and forth. Each sweep made you feel a bit sleepier, a bit more comfortable. He just gazed at you with tender eyes, and smiled. “You are the one I’ve wanted all along, you know. Since the first time I saw you.”

“The first time… Mr. Thornton, we were nine and ten years old.”

“I know.” Now he smiled fully, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Mrs. Thornton.”

“Mrs. Thornton…” Your heart rose, taking your spirits with it. “Wait… so, you are not unhappy about this? About—about us?”

“Not a whit. The only thing I am unhappy about is that it’s taken us this long to actually talk about it. Think of how much of this we could have been doing, had we only talked about it.”

“I thought you hated me because you had another chosen for you.”

“No, love,” he shook his head as he leaned into you, and your toes curled into the cool wood beneath your feet as his lips just brushed yours, “I chose you when I was but a boy. I felt it then and I feel it even more so now. We belong together. We always have. You are my soulmate, darling. It was providence that your father could help, and with that help, the mills will remain up and running, hopefully for generations to come. And one day soon, god willing, we will have a son to take over when the time comes. At least one, but hopefully many, many more.”

Your toes curled at those words, even as you said, “But you were angry about having to accept that help.”

“At first, yes, but not for the reason you think. Pride can be a double-edged sword, you know, and swallowing it can hurt, even if doing so is for the best. But know this, I am not unhappy at having to share my bed with you. You’re quite the vixen, you know. And that makes John a lucky man. A lucky man, indeed.”

“John!”

He winked. “I do like how that sounds.” He brushed your lips with his once more and added, “I love you, you know.”

“I do now,” you whispered back, curving your hand against his cheek. “I love you, too, John.”

“Then we have a bit of lost time to make up for, don’t we?” 

A wink accompanied his words and you felt it to the center of your being. He bent over you once more, his lips moving softly against yours and as he kissed you so thoroughly, so sweetly. He carefully eased himself over you once more and as his kiss deepened further, you wound your arms about his neck to hold him tighter against you. 

Chapter Text

An arm snaked about your waist to lift you off your feet. A hand clamped over your mouth prevented you from screaming, and all of the flailing in the world did you no good, as your feet made contact with little but air. They swung wildly, glancing off a shin or a knee, but not doing much in the way of damage. 

Terror bit into you with icy fangs as he dragged you away from the tavern’s kitchen door, and down the narrow path leading to the livery, which was quiet and dark for the night, with only a few stalls occupied. The air rushed from your body as he tossed you into a pile of scratchy hay and the tang of manure lay heavy in the air, which was fine, since you couldn't breath as his shadow loomed over you.

No. Not a shadow. You knew your attacker. At least, you recognized him. Everyone knew John Chandler. He had the magnificent reputation of being the village drunkard and you’d had more than one run-in with him, as he frequented your father’s tavern on a nightly basis. More than once, his hands found their way onto the serving girls’ bottoms, and more than once, your father tossed him bodily out of the tavern as a result. 

You stared up at him, determined not to let him see just how frightened you were. Normally, you thought nothing of cuffing a man upside the head for attempting to take any liberties, and this most definitely counted as taking liberties. 

But the truth was, you were frightened to your core. He was huge—fat mostly, but there was still a bit of muscle contained in his bulk. You’d heard the rumors of what he did to women he dallied with, and those were women with whom he wasn’t infuriated. You called attention to his wandering hands, clouted him in the back of the head, where his yelp echoed thorough out the taproom, and your father was quick to grab him by the ear and drag him to the door.

You hadn’t expected him to be lying in wait for you as you closed up for the night. You’d stepped out to empty the rubbish bin when he’d grabbed you. 

“You need to let me up now,” you told him, fighting to keep the tremble from your voice. “Let me up and let me go home.”

“You need to stop telling me what I need do,” he spat as he stood over you, then dropped, one knee on either side you your legs. Thankfully, he kept most of his weight off you, for you didn't doubt he’d crush you otherwise. 

“Throw me out, will he, and hit me, will you? I’ll show you what happens when a wench thinks to tell me what to do,” he growled, one of his large hands wrapping about both of your wrists. A sharp burn sang through your right shoulder as he slammed your hands into the hay above your head and pinned them there.

Then, to your horror, he reached for the fastenings on his trousers. You kicked, you fought to knock him from you, anything you could do to dislodge him you tried, making it impossible for him to do anything other than shift from one leg to the other as he struggled to hold you still.

Finally, with a barked, “Enough!” he drew back his hand and cracked you solidly across the face. 

Bright lights exploded before your eyes and your skull rang like a church bell, stunning you into utter stillness as he shoved your skirts up past your knees.

You never saw the second man but then he was there. He dove at John, driving his shoulder into John’s side to tear him from you. A fist met flesh with a dull thwock, while you scrabbled away, to the back of of the stall, shoving your skirts back into place as you did. Black dots danced before your eyes, your heart hammering your ribs with such force, you thought for a moment you might faint. 

But John wasn’t going without a fight and he was on his feet to hurl his considerable bulk at the man who’d come to your aid. He slammed your champion into the far wall, which bowed under the pressure, but remained intact. Both men groaned, sliding down along the slats, as John used momentum to flatten the other man beneath him.

“Get off him!” You grabbed the first thing you could find, a heavy shovel propped in the opposite corner. You grabbed it and swung to club Chandler solidly across the back. He let out a breathless, “Oooof!” and dropped like a sandbag.

Unfortunately, he landed flat on the other man, who also let out a harsh, “Ooof!”

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” You tossed the shovel into the hay pile and grabbed one of Chandler’s beefy arms to roll him off your savior, then froze when you saw who it was who’d come to your rescue. 

Sir Guy of Gisborne. You knew him by name and reputation and had caught glimpses of him every now and again, but this was the closest you’d ever been to him and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t almost as terrified at the sight of him as you were in Chandler’s presence. Everyone knew he was cold and cruel and reveled in making people suffer in his pursuit of and determination to wield whatever power he could manage to grasp.

But, when he looked up at you, his eyes weren’t hard and cold,. Instead, concern filled them, softened them, and he winced as he slowly rolled facedown and carefully rocked back onto his knees. “Are you all right?”

You nodded. “I am. Thank you.” You narrowed your eyes at the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. “And you?”

He swiped at the blood with his fingertips, looked down at it, then slowly nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

You held out a hand, which he just raised his eyebrows at, then got to his feet on his own. A hint of foolishness swirled through you as you lowered your arm. Not only was his lip cut, but he had the beginnings of a bruise beneath his right eye. “Come back to the Yewtree Inn and let me get a good look at that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stop. It’s the least I can do, since you no doubt saved my sorry hide from a far worse fate than this.”

Without thinking, you caught him by the wrist, your fingers barely long enough to meet around it. You looked up at him. He towered over you, and dressed in black trousers and a black leather jacket, he looked every inch an avenging angel. Before this night, you’d have been terrified to be alone with Guy. But you weren’t afraid—not entirely, anyway. Being this close to him did rattle your senses a bit, but it wasn’t in an altogether terrible way. Not at all, really.

Then, he reached for you and the sudden movement had you jerking away from him. “What?”

“Easy,” he told you, shaking his head. “He bruised you. Perhaps you should let me look at that.”

“Then come with me and offer me no more argument.” 

That earned you a surprising wry smile, and he did just that, allowing you to lead him away from the livery, down the narrow path that led to the back of the Yewtree Inn. It was quiet now. Your father would have retired for the night with whichever serving girl caught his eye, leaving you to close up for the night. Which was why you were the one carting rubbish out in the dead of night. 

The tavern was almost eerily quiet, with only one fire burning and that was in the kitchen, which was equally quiet. You pointed to a chair at a long, scarred worktable. “Sit.” 

He sighed, the chair creaking as he obeyed and you almost smiled. You’d expected far more of a fight from Sir Guy. You took a deep bowl from the cupboard and went out the well to fetch water, pausing in the doorway long enough to say, “I will be back in but a moment.”

He didn’t answer, but when you returned, you saw he had not moved from his chair. A somewhat clean rag lay on the sideboard, so you grabbed that and brought both it and the water over to him. 

He eyed the bowl. “What are you doing?”

“Do not worry, Sir Guy. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You smiled as you dunked the rag in the bowl, then leaned over to catch him by the chin. His skin was rough, a dark shadow of stubble shading the lower half of his face. You tried to move his head, to get a better look, but he refused to yield. 

“Did he touch you?”

His question caught you by surprise and for a moment, you forget about his cut lip. “I beg your pardon?”

“Chandler.” He gestured with his head in the livery’s general direction. “Did he touch you?”

“No. Well, he had my hands pinned but—”

“Let me see them.”

“Show me your face and then you may see my hands.”

“Milady,” a heavy sigh wove through that one word, “my face is fine and dried blood washes off. Now,” he held out his ungloved hands, “if you would.”

“Oh, very well. Stubborn man.” With a low sigh, you let the rag slip back into the water and set your hands in his. His palms and fingertips were callused and rough-looking in the soft light of the fire. Your own hands trembled, but you held them out, and he caught one to turn it palm up. Those rough fingers brushed your delicate skin as if probing for broken bones, and when he found nothing, he released that hand to take your other and did the same to it.

“And your cheek?” He released your hands to bring one of his up to his own face.

The side of your face throbbed. It felt hot and doughy. “It’s but a bruise and will be fine in time. Now,” you reached for the cloth once more, “if I may?”

“Very well.” 

Water sloshed softly as you wrung out the cloth and bent closer. You caught his chin once more to turn it slightly and as you did, his eyes slid in your direction, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes were a pale blue, a stark contrast to the wavy black hair framing his face. He was strikingly handsome, but it was a cold handsomeness, one that permeated no deeper than his skin, as far as you knew.

He said nothing as you dabbed at the cut in the corner of his mouth. This was the closest you’d ever been to Guy, and you never dreamed it would wreak the havoc on your senses that it had. You had to will your hands to not tremble, and your heart beat so much faster, your breath seemed so much harder to catch, and for a moment, you thought perhaps he felt it as well.

Before this night, you’d seen him so many times before and each time, wished you had some reason to cross paths with him. You had the feeling that there was more to him than he presented to the world, and perhaps it was but only a silly, girlish notion that he was not beyond redemption of any sort, but there were times when he haunted your thoughts. 

You tried to shove those thoughts from your mind now and concentrate on your task. When you’d washed most of the blood away, you let the cloth sink into the bowl once more. “There. You are all finished.”

His eyes narrowed then and his hand rose to your cheek, far bigger than you’d imagined, even bigger than Chandler’s ham-hock sized hands, and that was saying something. You flinched, sucking in a sharp breath as he touched the tender knot where Chandler had struck you, and jerked away from him.

“Easy, milady, I promise you, I won’t hurt you,” he assured you once more, then caught you by the chin, his fingers oddly gentle as they came to rest against you. He tried to turn your head to the right, saying, “I want to see if he broke the skin or possibly the bone.”

“I told you, it’s but bruised and—” You let out a sharp hiss as he probed the doughy knot along your cheekbone.

His hand went still and he met your gaze once more.  “I beg your pardon. Perhaps a bit of wine to help take away the pain?”

“I don’t think that would be wise. My father has a sixth sense about when his stores have been raided. I’d rather feel this pain than the pain he’d inflict if he thought I’d drunk his wine.”

“Then perhaps we should not help ourselves.”

You couldn't help your laugh, managing a smile as you said, “Perhaps not.”

Your eye watered as he moved over the swelling on your cheek and as the tears spilled over, he sat back and wordlessly drew a handkerchief from inside his jacket and pressed it into your hand. 

“I apologize if I hurt you,” he said.

“No. It’s quite all right. I think I should just go up and go to bed. Come morning, perhaps it will be better.” You moved to stand, only to have him catch you by the forearm. 

“Wait… I wanted to thank you. To let you know how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s the least I could do. You saved me from Chandler.”

“No. That’s not quite what I mean. I speak of the other things that you’ve done, the kindness you’ve shown me. I know it was you.”

“You knew what was me?” You could only stare at him. Who was this man, for he was not the same Guy you’d heard about, that you’d seen for yourself. Not the Guy that Nottingham knew. Where was his smirk, his cold brutality, his callous indifference to anyone else’e suffering? There was no trace of that now.

“Do you deny it?”

“Deny what?” You shook your head. “I haven’t any idea what it is you think I’ll deny.”

“Think you I don’t know?”

“Know what?”

A smile played at his lips and his eyes glinted in the flickering golden glow of the firelight. “Over the last few weeks, someone has been leaving a basket of goods at my doorstep. Apples, pies, a cake, even.”

You just stared. “And what has that to do with me?”

He took the lacy handkerchief he’d given you and ran it through his fingers. “Your initials, milady, are embroidered on the edge. I found it on the ground alongside a basket of scones last Tuesday.”

Heat flushed through you. He was never supposed to know about your sojourns out to Locksley Manor in the dead of night and the last time you ventured out there, you hadn’t realized you’d dropped your fool handkerchief until you’d gotten home. By then it was too late to venture back out. All you could do was hope he never figured out to whom it belonged. 

For all the good that did. You stared at him. “Why do you think it was me? Mine are not the only initials that embroidery could stand for. It could be anyone else.”

“It smells of roses and cloves.” He leaned closer. “And a hint of cloves clings to you now. If you are not the one leaving them, it is someone who spends time in your kitchen.”

Heat swept through you. “I—I don’t know—”

He drew back and smiled. “Why do you blush?”

“Because you weren’t supposed to guess it was me.” You tried to ignore the heat of idiocy sweeping through you. You’d never intended for him to ever learn you were the one behind the gifts, for you were certain he’d just laugh at you. Laugh and call you a fool and you’d spent so many hours just longing for him, to have him laugh at you would destroy you. 

“Why? Did you think I’d not appreciate the gestures?”

“I thought you’d laugh at me.”

“Why?”

“A silly tavern girl trying to win your heart through apple pies? It’s laughable, Sir Guy.”

“No.” To your surprise, he reached across the table and caught you by the fingers. Brushing his thumb along the back of yours, he added, “Apples are my favorite thing. How did you know?”

“I saw you over at the Rosemont’s fruit stall at the market a few weeks back and overheard you asking about them. We have more than enough and I thought you might like… well… you might like them. And I like to bake when I have the time, so… I thought I’d share with you.”

“So, you did this for no reason other than just for me?” 

He said it so softly, and with hints one wonder and surprise, as if he couldn’t believe you would do such a thing for him. You nodded. “For you, yes. Does that surprise you?”

“It astounds me.” 

“So, you aren’t about to laugh at me and tell me I’m a fool for thinking this way?”

He shook his head, the firelight dancing along the raven strands to streak them with rivulets of gold and amber. “No. It’s the last thing I wish to do to you. No one…” His voice cracked slightly, so he cleared his throat, “no one has ever done something like this for me.”

“I’d like to keep doing it. If you’d have me, that is.”

“Have you?”

You nodded slowly. “I know I’m only a tavern keeper’s daughter, but—”

“You are not only anything.” He stood up and leaned across the table. You thought he was going to kiss you. Your heart sped up and your eyes grew heavy lidded in anticipation, but he hesitated and for a moment, looked absolutely lost, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Your chair creaked as you stood, and your skirts swished softly as you moved about the table to stand before him. You caught his hands in yours and as he looked up, you said, “You can touch me, you know. I won’t bite you.”

“After what happened as Farran’s,” he said softly, “I didn't want to frighten you more than you were already frightened.”

“I’m not afraid of you any longer.” You tightened your fingers about his, and smiled as he drew near. Lifting your gaze to his, you smiled and said, “I’m not at all certain I was ever afraid of you entirely to begin with.”

A hint of a smile lifted his lips. Oh, he was so strikingly handsome, and when he smiled, he only became more so. He didn't smile often, at least you hadn’t seen it, but perhaps now that would change. Perhaps you would have the chance to soften his heart a little, to show him love unlike most of the people who’d passed thorough his life.

You linked your fingers with his as he closed the space between you. The top of your head only barely cleared his shoulders. He loomed over you and while he could be amazingly intimidating, you didn't feel that from him now. He made you feel safe. Now it was your turn to make him feel safe. 

He eased his hand from yours to bring it up to your face once more, gently brushing what you thought was most likely a bruise by now. “I wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

“I will live and it will heal.”

His hand curved against your cheek, your eyes growing heavy at the warmth from his rough palm sinking into your skin. “I should have killed him for this.”

“Perhaps tomorrow. I’d much rather you kiss me instead.”

“Are you certain?”

You nodded. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

He remained where he was, however, as if afraid to come closer. You caught his face between your palms, let your thumbs just brush along the prickly shadow of what would become beard very soon. His eyes closed, his lashes thick black crescents against his cheeks. A hint of leather and crushed leaves, along with the faintest hints of horse, teased your nose when you pushed up onto your toes and every so gently brushed his lips with yours. 

His breath hitched. You laid a hand against the fabric over his chest. His heartbeat came faint against your palm, slow at first, but as you angled in to kiss him again, it sped up. You splayed your hand across his cheek, just brushing the soft hair swept back over his ear. Your father was busy and would never know about this stolen moment with Guy. 

Guy’s hands fell way from your face, coming to rest on your hips and as you teased along his lips with the tip of your tongue, then nudged between them, his fingers tightened to press harder into you. He slid them along the small of your back, folding you into his embrace, and when he pulled you flush against him, you sighed into his open mouth.

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing—and considering how small you were compared to him, you probably did weigh nothing to him—clasping you hard against him. When he finally drew back, you were equally breathless and pressing his forehead gently to yours, he whispered, “I do hope your father is a sound sleeper.”

“He is, but et’s do our best not to wake him, just to be safe.”

His soft laugh swept across your lips. “It’s a risk we’re taking you know.”

“I know,” you pulled back to smile up at him, holding his gaze as you added, “but I think it will be worth it, Sir Guy. I think you will be worth it.”

His eyes softened then, and when his lips founds yours once more, you wrapped your arms about his neck and lost yourself in his wonderful kiss. 

Chapter Text

He came in every morning at around the same time, and today was no different. The bell above the door jingled and you looked up to see him maneuver around the tables scattered about Brewster’s Place’s cozy main room. He looked especially handsome today, dressed in black jeans and a navy pea coat, a long black scarf wound about his neck. It had been snowing for the last hour and white flakes clung to his short, dark hair, stood out in his thick, dark beard, and all of them melted out of sight as he crossed the black and white tile floor toward the front counter.

Your heart skipped a beat, just as it always did, when he stepped up and smiled. He had no idea how much you looked forward to his stopping by, even as you returned his smile and said, “Good morning, John. How bad is it out there?”

“Not too bad. At least, not yet,” he replied, running a hand over his cropped hair to brush the remaining snow from it. He was English, his deep voice elegant, and when he smiled, he had the most adorable crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes. 

His eyes were blue. A beautiful shade of blue that changed depending on what he wore. Some days they were a very pale, piercing blue. Other days, they hovered between blue and gray. Today, they were the perfect blend of blue and gray. 

“What’s not too bad? I heard we could get up to six inches before morning.”

“Six? Morning news said maybe four.”

“Oh, I like that better. Let’s go with that.” You smiled. “The usual?”

He let out a low chuckle. “You’re coming to know me too well, I think.”

Your cheeks grew warm with that. The usual was nothing more than a Sumatran blend, served black, so it took no special skill to remember it. You moved to the pot, which had only been brewed a few minutes earlier, and filled a cardboard travel cup, then snapped the lid on and brought it back. “Here you go.”

He took the cup from you, his fingers just brushing yours, and maybe it was only your imagination, but you’d swear his eyes widened at the contact. You certainly felt your heart skip a beat, felt a jolt race along your left arm. 

You rang up the coffee, he paid, and then as was his routine, he went and sat at a table closer to the fireplace, where a fire danced and crackled softly on the hearth to take the chill out of those coming in from the cold. He pulled off the travel lid and sat back in his chair and just sipped his coffee while thumbing through his phone. The morning rush slowed a few minutes later, and you looked up when the bell jangled again. A tall, slender woman with dark hair and a deep furrow between her eyebrows came into Brewster’s Place. 

She didn't come up to order anything at the counter, but instead marched right over to where John sat and your heart sank when she lowered into the chair across from his. For a while now, you and he had become friendly and you wondered if it was possible that he might actually be interested in you. He sometimes seemed to linger at the counter, and more than once you’d found yourself over by where he sat, chatting away with him about the most recent Giants game, or the New York Yankees, or even about his preferred sport of soccer, although you knew almost nothing about it. He never revealed anything too personal, though.

Now you knew why.

The woman—his wife? His girlfriend?—scowled now. “I’m tired of this same argument, John. I’ve had enough.”

“You’ve had enough? Beth, I said no. I’m not letting you take them. They’re happy with me. They’re doing well in school and I will not uproot them so you and Doug can trot off to Germany or Sweden or wherever it was you wished to go. It’s not going to happen if I have anything to say about it.”

“You’re unreal, do you know that? Don’t you care about whether or not it will be a good experience for them?”

“They don’t want to go. Do you want me to force them? To go before the judge yet again and this time agree to this idiocy?” He jabbed his forefinger into the tabletop, shaking his head. “No. You don’t give a bloody damn if they’re happy. You want to run off to Europe and to hell with everyone else.”

“I don’t give a damn? You are so fucking selfish and you know it. You never cared about me. Only yourself. Only what you want and now you’re using my sons as pawns.”

“They’re my sons, too, and I am not the one using them as anything. They told the judge they want to stay with me, Beth. They don’t want to live with you and Dougie. They don’t want to leave here, to leave their friends. They want to stay. And we are done here.”

“Bastard!” 

With that snarled word, Beth slapped at his coffee, sending it showering over him, the cup toppling onto its side to roll off the table. She leaped from her chair and stormed out of the coffeehouse, leaving him sitting where he was, dripping with Sumatran dark roast.

You hurried over with a roll of paper towels and a damp rag. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He grabbed the roll of towels to tear off a few and mopped up the table, then his dark blue button down. “My ex-wife.”

“I gathered.” You picked up the cup and tossed it in the trash. “Let me get you another cup. On me.”

“Thank you, but no. I—I actually have to get going.” He glanced down at the watch on his left wrist. “I’m late as it is because she was late. No matter what, she’s going to make me pay for what I did, even well after our divorce was finalized.”

You wondered what it was he could have done, but you certainly couldn’t ask, and since he didn't offer it up, all you could manage was a lame, “I’m sorry.”

He managed a slight smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to her temper. And she’s not really my problem any more, so…” His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’ll see you.”

“Be careful. We might get six inches of snow before this is all over.

He paused in the doorway, then stepped aside as someone tried to get in. He looked over at you. “Are you free tonight? Or perhaps tomorrow night?”

“It depends on whether we get six inches of snow or not.”

He grinned, coming back to where you stood. “Would you like to go out, maybe see a movie or grab a bite to eat?”

You nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Great.” He tugged his phone from his coat pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll give you a call later, once we know what the weather is going to do.”

You took the phone to punch in your digits, then handed it back to him. “I hope you’re not going to be too late now, stopping to ask me out and everything.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said with a wink. He tucked his phone back into his pocket and crossed back to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And with that, he was gone and you had to get back to work. Somehow, you had the feeling the hours were going to crawl by until you heard from him. 

John stared down at the phone in his palm. It was toggled to your number, but he had yet to dial. You couldn't possibly know how his morning visit to Brewster’s Place was the high point of most of his days. He’d sit at his usual table, lingering over his coffee before heading into the office, and he’d just watch you, doing his best to make sure you didn't know he watched you. He didn't want to give off the creeper vibe, after all.

But you should only know how you brightened his day, how your never wavering smile and cheerful ‘good morning!’ made even the crappiest morning brighter. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was about asking you out. You were the first woman he was actually interested in since his divorce was finalized six months earlier. You were the first one since Abby…

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about Abby. She was in the past and that’s where she’d stay. And it no longer mattered. He was no longer married, but was now free to pursue any woman he wished. 

His heart beat faster and his mouth went dry as he pushed the little green send button on his screen. He swallowed hard as your phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” your name rolled easily off his lips now, and he smiled as he relaxed at the sound of your voice, “it’s John. I’m not calling at a bad time am I?”

“Not at all.” Your laugh came low and husky to his ears. “I’m actually on break now.”

“Are you still free tonight? Snow looks like it’s letting up, so if you are, I thought maybe we could go to dinner.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” He switched the phone to his other ear and stretched over to pluck a pen from the mesh cup at the corner of his desk blotter. “Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at seven, if that works.”

“Seven works just fine.”

You rattled off your address, he scribbled it down and then read it back to you to make sure he had it right. Then, he said, “I’ll see you at seven.”

“You certainly will.”

He clicked off, sitting back in his rich leather chair, head back, eyes closed, and smiled. 

Tonight was going to be a good night. 

Chapter Text

You hadn’t moved in over an hour except to blink every now and again. Rather, you sat, knees drawn to your chest, back up against the rough bark of a fallen tree, and stared moodily at the fire crackling loudly, a stick popping as it shifted in the flames before being consumed. You ignored everyone and everything around you—the dull ache in your back, the fatigue burning in your eyes. You just watched the flames as they danced, slowly at times, like a woman trying to seduce her partner and other times, far faster, almost frenzied in their movement. They soothed you, those flames, they helped your mind wander for a bit, carried you away from your reality, if only for a little while. Because in your reality, you were the stick being consumed by the flames of your life, powerless to stop it, no matter how badly it burned. 

“You should eat.” Raymond’s deep voice came from behind your left shoulder, oddly gentle. You scowled at the fire. He could sound as gentle as he wished, it changed nothing. 

He came around from behind you, his sword slapping softly against his left thigh. The others were asleep already, worn out from a long day’s journey across the rocky terrain. Sleep was the furthest thing on your mind, for each step across the landscape meant you were another step closer to being returned to your father.

And being forced into a marriage you did not want.

Yes, you were definitely the stick.

Another branch popped. And yet, you still did not move. 

He settled on the log bracing your lower back. “So you still refuse to speak to me?”

You hadn’t said a word, not uttered a single peep, in almost two days. You only looked at him when you absolutely had to and even then, you only hoped he knew how you looked through him. You tried his patience hour after hour, just as you had the entire time you’d known him.

For all anyone could guess, you and Raymond had only just met when he’d snatched you from your bed at the run-down inn where you’d sought shelter from a drenching downpour two nights prior. They’d be hard-pressed to believe that you’d known each other practically your entire lives. You were close as children, even more so as you grew older, and at one point, you were almost positive he’d ask for your hand. You’d loved him from the time you were old enough to know what love was, and although he’d never spoken the words aloud, his actions said what he could not where you were concerned. He looked out for you, would lay low anyone who thought to mistreat you. He’d given you your first kiss when you were both by thirteen summers old. It was only a matter of time before he’d take you to wife.

But then, the winter of your eighteenth year, he’d left. You didn't know where he’d gone, or why he’d gone. All you knew was that he’d gone. And with him went the frivolous dreams you’d once had of winning his heart. Impossible. He had no heart. 

“Very well. I suppose I will leave you to your thoughts.” He slapped his hands against his thighs, then slowly rose. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” Your throat felt scratchy, your voice almost as scratchy from lack of use. But, as angry as you were at him for taking you from the inn, your curiosity, as always, got the better of you. 

He paused as you looked up at him, meeting your gaze directly. He never shied away from any confrontation, no matter how big or how small and this was no different.

He didn't say anything at first, but just studied you. In the soft glow of the dancing orange and yellow flames, he looked utterly exhausted. Dark smudges shadowed beneath eyes you knew could be blue or gray, depending upon his mood. In his youth, he’d been strikingly handsome, almost impossibly so, and as he settled into manhood, he’d only grown handsomer still. Time didn’t diminish his powerful his good looks, just as the scar on his face could not diminish them. You wondered where he’d received it, who had given it to him and why? It began—or perhaps ended—at his right temple, curved along the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, and curled up to just beneath that eye. It made you wonder what other scars he bore, as you had no doubt there were others. 

It was too dark to tell whether his eyes were blue or gray, as they hovered between the two, depending on his mood, but his gaze was direct, meeting yours. “Ah, you’ve not forgotten how to speak.”

“That is no answer.”

“I owe you no answer.”

“Of course not. It is only my life you’ve ruined.”

A low chuckle rolled toward you, but there was no mirth in his laugh, no emotion whatsoever. He’d grown even colder as he matured and you wondered if his heart had instead become a block of ice by now. 

“Your life. Tell me, how have I ruined your life?”

“By stealing me from my bed, throwing me first over your shoulder and later across your horse to drag me back home. That’s how.” You jerked back toward the fire. “Why? Why could you not simply leave me be? You had no cause to kidnap me, you know. I was fine exactly where I was.”

“Kidnap you? I did nothing of the sort. I was tasked with retrieving and returning a wayward fool of a girl who thought to try to avoid fulfilling a bargain by running away.”

“A bargain I never made.” You got to your feet, your body humming with the need to move. No one was supposed to find you. You were supposed to simply vanish into the mist and never be heard from again, to be able to start a new life in a new place.

But no. Raymond tracked you down in less than a week. 

You scowled at him. “Have you any idea what you’re doing? Or do you only care about the gold you’ve been paid?”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Do you? You are delivering me into the hands of a man old enough to be my father, who thinks nothing of brutalizing anyone or thing he believes deserves it. That will become my life, the object of his brutality. Think you I deserve that?”

“A contract is a contract and it is not up to me to decide whether or not it is to be enforced.”

You stared at him, shaking your head. “I did not agree to the terms.”

“That is of no matter. Why would anyone care if you agreed to them? That’s foolishness talking there. Your opinion on the agreement is moot. There is a reason for that, you know.”

Your gut kinked at the quiet finality in his voice. “So, that’s it, then. You think my father and Comte de Verlaine should feel free to take whatever liberties they wish where I am concerned? That I should just be quiet and accept my lot in life and marry that wrinkled old prune of a man? To let him do as he will with me when the mood strikes, however that mood shall strike.”

His hands came to rest against his sword’s pommel, one atop the other, and he merely shrugged. “It matters not to me where you go once I’ve left you on your father’s doorstep. You should not have run, but—”

“And you should not have stolen my freedom from me.”

His eyes widened for a moment, and the firelight glinted off his dark hair as he shook his head. “You are a fool, to choose living in squalor over living in comfort.”

“I would rather wallow in a gutter than lay with Verlaine.” You spun about and marched away from him, toward the wide river to the east, picking your way around reeds and rocks and anything else in your path. 

You never heard his boots on the ground, but then he seized you by the arm and spun you about to face him. “What would you have me do, then?”

“You swore you would always look out for me,” you told him, narrowing your eyes even as your heart ached worse than it ever had before. “That you would never let anyone hurt me. Do you remember that? To you remember that promise you made to me? You always told me that you’d never hurt me! And then you left. You left and now here we are, with you taking me to another!”

“You wanted what I could never give you,” he told you, shaking his head before turning toward the black ribbon of rushing water weaving through the countryside behind you.

“You could give it, you chose not to.” You also turned to the water, wrapping your arms about yourself as the night’s chill bit into you. “Do you know what you will deliver me to? A lifetime of misery, is what. Misery and more misery. He will expect children and the thought of giving him them nauseates me, Raymond. It terrifies me. He is… repulsive.”

“As am I.”

“No,” you shook your head, glancing over at him, “you are only in your own mind. I’ve never seen you that way and you know it.”

“There is nothing I can do. I am bound to see this through to the end, my personal feelings be damned.”

“There is something you can do. You can and you know it. And again, you simply choose not to.”

“I do not have the luxury and you need to stop thinking of me the way you wish me to be, for I am not the man you think I am.”

You sighed softly, letting your eyes close as tears stung them. “So I am realizing. And I must confess, I find it greatly disheartening.”

“What would you have me do?” His voice grew harsh, and without warning, he grabbed you by the shoulders, spinning you to face him. “Tell me, what would you have me do?”

You stared up at him for a moment, then shoved up onto your toes and caught his lips with yours. His entire body went stiff at first, but then… then he yielded and your heart rose. First, his lips moved slowly against yours. Then they parted. His tongue slid into your mouth as his arms eased about your waist. His hands flattened against your back, swept up along it. Heat rose from the linen shirt he wore, his armor shed and left by the fire earlier. Through the fabric, you felt the solid rises of muscle across his chest as you let your hands glide across him, up to his shoulders, around to the back of his neck. Your fingers stretched up into his hair, damp from the night’s fog. 

He softened his kiss, his tongue no longer plunging in to snake about yours, but rather it caressed yours, more gentle than you’d ever thought him capable. His arms tightened about you, and as your breasts pressed harder into his chest, he actually moaned softly into your mouth. 

Your eyes grew so heavy-lidded, you couldn’t keep them open if you tried. Not that you tried at all. No, you let them close, let the delicious headiness of arousal wrap itself about you. You’d dreamed of this moment for so long, when Raymond would finally admit his feelings for you. He’d come so close before he’d left. Now, he’d admit the truth. And you could run away together and begin a new life somewhere and just… be happy.

His arms fell away from you, then his sword hit the earth with a soft thunk. A moment later, he caught you by the hips, then slid both hands up along the curve of your waist, skimming along the front of your dirt-spattered, wrinkled bodice. He cupped both of your breasts at the same time to make you  shiver against him. The heat from his palms sank into you in a most delicious manner and without thinking, you let your back arch, pressed your breasts deeper into his hands. 

Raymond broke the kiss roughly, gathering a handful of your hair in a fist to tug and as your neck bowed, he devoured it like a ravenous wolf. There was no hesitation in his movement, in his actions. He knew exactly what he was doing and for a moment, bright green jealousy slashed through you at the thought of the women he’d probably been with and upon whom he’d perfected his skills.

You chose to ignore that. Each kiss came harsh against your sensitive skin, your scalp tingling from his tugging on your hair. Still, you smiled into the darkness and let him pull you down into the damp earth. 

He pinned you beneath him, his body hard and unyielding as he continued his onslaught against your neck, the scruff of his beard scraping sensually against your skin. That anyone could happen upon you only heightened your senses, made each caress, each kiss, that much more enticing. You didn't care if anyone caught you. All you cared about was losing yourself in Raymond, in making him lose himself in you if you could. He bit teasingly into the slope of your shoulder, then soothed it with a sweep of his tongue against your skin. You returned the favor, smiling when he shivered against you and breathed, “Do that again…”

You did. His skin was salty and musky, hints of leather and iron woven in, and as your teeth clamped against him, he gave a hard thrust that sent fire running riot through you. You’d dreamed of this moment for so long, when you would claim him as yours for good, and you were not the least bit shy when you gripped two handfuls of sweat-stained linen to tug up. 

It slid easily along his back and over his head and you let your eyes feast on what you’d bared. You’d never seen him undressed before, but had only imagined for yourself what his body looked like. He defied even your dreamiest of expectations. 

Swells of muscle wrapped along his arms, across his shoulders. Dark hair spread wide across his chest, covered him from shoulder to shoulder and down over his belly to the waist of his trousers. Oh, he was a fine specimen of a man, your knight, and you were not about to let him go. You slid your hands through that hair, surprisingly soft, and smiled when your fingernails against his skin elicited a husky moan from his lips. You brushed your fingertips over his nipples, let your nails scrape them, and each teasing touch had him pressing his hips hard into yours, which sent white-hot pleasure streaking through you.

It wasn't enough, though. You had to touch him, had to feel his skin bare against yours, to feel him bare against you. You’d burned for him since you were old enough to understand what lust was, and now you were so close to having him, you could practically taste him.

His hand was rough against your calf as he reached beneath your skirts to sweep up along your leg. Your thigh. Your skirts bunched about your waist, the cool night air dancing along your bared skin. You shivered at his touch, at the gentle way he caressed your thigh, the way he swept his hand up to cup your backside. His fingers traced back down over the curve of your backside, up and over your thigh to disappear into the darkness between your legs and then—

“Oh!” You couldn’t hold back your gasp as he slid his fingers thorough your curls, then thrust a single finger inside you to tease you where you ached the most for him, where you positively burned for him. At first, you tensed against him, but then he did something with that finger, stroked something very sensitive and highly pleasurable and your gasp melted into a purr. 

He bent to seize your lips once more, his tongue thrusting into your mouth in time with the finger he thrust inside you. He swirled both. Drew both back only to come at you again. The pleasure twisted through you, billowing like smoke, bubbling like boiling water, filling you with a yearning you’d never experienced before. Everything inside you was so tight, you were almost afraid you’d shatter like glass before much longer. 

Raymond wasn’t at all gentle as his thumb brushed the pearl nestled within your folds, nor did you wish him to be for when he teased that bead, a bliss so raw and sweet tore through you, all you could do was cling to him, your fingernails biting into the sweat-dampened skin of his shoulders, while you shuddered beneath him. 

The harder you dug your fingernails into his skin, the harder he teased, and the hotter the fire burned. Your mind went blank, the inferno inside you raging out of control, your body ravenous for his and demanding his to soothe that need swelling within you. You rocked your hips to meet him, to savor the pleasure pulsing through you now. Oh, you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted him before and so you caught the bindings of his trousers to tug open.

He shuddered against you when you found him, when you wrapped your hand about that sleek, hot part of him to stroke. You were’t shy, nor did you hesitate, but instead you moved along that thick length and smiled as he moaned into your mouth, as he moved his finger faster inside you and his thumb harsher against you. You explored that part of him as best you could, considering how you burned for him.

With a low growl, he slid his finger free, fumbled slightly in his haste to tug your hand from him, and a moment later—

The pain came swift and sharp and mercifully short-lived and then he was inside you, pushing his way deeper into you, moaning low as your body slowly accommodated him, slowly allowed him full entry. You squeezed him, smiling as you pressed your knees against his sides. You had no idea he would feel so thick, so full inside you, that he would only seemingly barely fit you. You trembled around him, murmuring, “Oh, my love… yes…” as he seated himself and went still against you. 

Your name floated to his lips in the softest of whispers, and his kiss came lingering and sweet as he gave you a moment to acclimate to having him inside you. Then he thrust, and your knees clamped tight against his sides as you moved with him. This wasn’t quite how you envisioned giving him your virginity, but you didn't mind as his lips claimed yours once more. It took you a moment or two to adapt to his rhythm, to meet his thrusts, but when you did, he shivered against you and a low moan rose in his throat.

He moved more easily inside you now, your arousal combining with his to make each thrust silken, more sensual, more absolutely wonderful than you could have ever possibly imagined. Oh, you could so easily become spoiled by his lovemaking, by the absolute bliss he introduced you to with each one of his powerful thrusts. You looked forward to many, many more nights spent this way, and wondered what else you could do that would feel just as sinfully sweet. What he could do to you. What you could do to him. Oh, you would love discovering all of it with him. 

Your insides knotted in a manner more delightful, more wickedly delicious, than you could have ever imagined. He surged harder, thrust deeper and as you teetered on the edge of nirvana, he drove hard to shove you into he abyss.

“Raymond!” Your voice rang out into the darkness and you didn't care who heard you as he thrust hard and with a guttural oath, his body spilled into yours. He shuddered hard against you, his hip grinding up into yours, his release hot and powerful and unlike anything you ever felt before. You melted around him, your thighs firm against his ribs, your body greedily squeezing every last bit of pleasure from both you and him. 

He sank against you, his breathing rough and ragged and smoky about the edges. A soft kiss swept along your neck and he whispered, “Je t’aime. Je t’ai toujours aimeé, ma chérie…”

Tears stung your eyes at his confession. Brushing your lips against his ear, you murmured back, “Je t’aims aussi…”

He trembled against you, fighting to slow his breath, and then, with a low grunt, he withdrew and you shivered at the loss of his fullness inside you. You expected him to stretch out beside you, to gather you in his arms and spend the rest of the evening planning your future together, lying entwined beneath the inky black sky spattered with twinkling stars until you drifted off to sleep in his arms, secure in his love.

But, to your surprise, he got to his feet, tugging his trousers back into place as he did, then crouched to swipe up his shirt once more. As he drew the linen over his head, he said, “You should try to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us come the morning.”

You just stared up at him. “But… but, I thought that you and I—”

“Nothing has changed. I will still see you returned to your father.” 

Your eyes stung as he turned and walked back toward the fire, leaving you to sit there, hands folded in your lap, your skirts winkled and creased from being bunched about your waist while he took his pleasure. And as you tried to make sense of what had just happened, the skies opened up. 

Chapter Text

There were times when you would cheerfully throttle Thorin blue and this was absolutely one of them. You rose onto one elbow to just stare down at him. “Are you mad?”

“What?” His eyes went wide as he tucked one arm up beneath his head. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

“Perhaps because I think you might have gone mad?” You pushed up from your elbow, sitting upright. What had been one of the most wonderful afternoons of your life was all of the sudden coming apart. Instead of lying there on the soft skin, your head tucked against Thorin’s chest, your fingers trailing lightly through the dark hair that covered it, and your leg resting over his, while you fought off the delicious drowsiness that always followed a romp with him, you were now dealing with a bellyful of uncomfortable knots. Even the air around you felt different now. Minutes earlier, lust and desire, swirled through it, took away some of the early autumn chill to replace it with the heat of unbridled passion. You treasured these times with him, when the rest of the world faded away and you lost yourselves in one another. 

But now, that air of romance faded into the trees around around you. You pulled your fingers thorough your hair to shove it out of your eyes, away from your face. “Why would you do that? Why can’t things just be as they are now? This is perfect.”

“Perfect?” He also sat up, then reached for his trousers, which lay in the soft grass where they’d fallen when you shoved them down his legs not quite half an hour earlier. “We sneak about, jumping at every sound, convinced at any moment, someone will catch us. That is hardly perfect, mimûna. I’d rather not have to worry about it. I’d rather not have to sneak about any longer, to pretend when I see you in the square that we don’t know each other like this. I’d far prefer being able to do something as simple as hold your blasted hand or steal a kiss and not care who might be lurking about.”

You would have loved the same, to be honest. Sneaking about was fun at first. You loved having the delicious little secret tucked away inside your heart, loved see him in town and being able to share a smile with him, while others wondered what it was you smiled about. 

But as the summer went on and gave away to autumn, and the air grew chilled with the change of season, that secret lost some of its lustre. Snuggling under a skin with him was cozy. Having to emerge from it into the nippy air was not. You’d become quite adept as dressing without moving said skin, but the fact was, you were growing tired of sneaking and hiding as well. You would far rather fall into a soft bed with him than roll around on the ground, where an ill placed stone or stick could interrupt an otherwise lovely moment. 

However, what Thorin suggested was nothing short of madness and could never come to pass. You understood that. Why didn't he?

Still, you felt a pang of disappointment as he stepped into his trousers and drew them up over his thick thighs. “We do not jump at every sound,” you told him, trying—and failing—to keep the sulkiness from your voice. 

“We do, and if you’re honest with yourself, you will admit it. And can you honestly tell me you like skulking about and hiding us from everyone?” 

“Well… no…” you hedged. “I don’t like it. But—”

“But nothing.” He shook his head without looking up while he fastened his trousers. Then he stretched one hand to snag your chemisette to hold out to you. “So, this is a solution. It’s the perfect solution and I fail to see why you don’t agree.”

“It would be the perfect solution,” you shot back, dragging the linen over your head, where from inside the bodice, you added, “if it wasn’t for the fact that I am not fit to wipe your boots, never mind marry you!”

He didn't reply, and when you emerged from the chemisette, it was to find him glowering at you. “What?” You tugged the wrinkled linen down and stood, then tried to smooth out at least some of the wrinkles. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Not fit?” His voice lowered to an irritated growl, so deep, it sounded as if it might actually have risen from the soles of his feet. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it is the truth.” You gestured to the skin he’d spread out over the ground earlier, when you’d met up at your special glade by the river, down past the bend, where few people ventured. It was secluded and romantic and the only place you didn’t truly worry about being caught alone with your prince. In the summer, the grass was lush and vibrant green, the trees’ leafy canopies provided welcome shade when the temperatures soared, but those canopies were now red and gold and yellow as they prepared to drop with the cold weather. 

When he just stared, you rolled your eyes at his stubborn determination to remain blind to the truth of your romance. “My father is but a tradesman and my mother is of Man who chose to leave both of us. I am not worthy of the prince’s attentions, never mind being his wife. You know it and you are mad if you think you can change that.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed further. “Why do you spew such nonsense? You know I care not about your lineage and your father is a baker. There is nothing wrong with that. And of course I can change it. I can and I will and I alone have that power, remember.”

“You would never do that to your people, Thorin. You have too much respect for them and their opinions, and you know how they would feel about me becoming queen.” You shook your head as you slid into your own trousers and fastened them. This wasn't the first time you’d had this argument, but it was the first in which it came following his actually proposing to you. “This is all I can ever be to you, Thorin. And all we can ever have are stolen moments that no one else can ever know about. You cannot marry me. And even if you could, I would not say yes because it is a pipe dream at best. Should you ever ascend the throne, I cannot be queen.”

“What throne? There is no throne here.”

Your eyes stung as you drew your loose blue tunic over your head. Your hose, your boots, your sword, all lay in a row, where you’d shed them in your haste to be naked with him. You cherished the moments you had, each tryst a delicious secret you tucked away into your heart. You knew one day, those memories would all you would have of him. One day, he would marry, of course, but it would not be to you. No, he would take a full-blooded dwarrowdam as his wife and you would be able to do no more than watch from a distance as he settled into his new life, as he raised children with this now-nameless woman. It made your heart ache to think about, as you’d loved him since the first time he’d kissed you, so many months earlier. He was your first lover and would be your only lover, for no other could possibly compare to him. 

“Thorin, you know what I mean. Just as you know this cannot happen.”

“Why? And if you tell me you are unworthy, I swear to Mahal, I will toss you in that river.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the river question. It was too wide to cross at this bend, the current swift and merciless, the blackish waters sweeping tree limbs and other debris by in the blink of an eye. “Perhaps you should do that,” you said without thinking, not looking at him. “Then you wouldn’t feel duty-bound to marry me simply because we’ve made love.”

“Duty-bound?” Anger threaded those two words together. “Is that how you see this? Is that what you think? That I only wish to marry you because it is the honorable thing because of this?”

You met his now-furious gaze. “Thorin, we both know this can never go beyond this. It simply cannot.”

“It could, if you would not be so blasted stubborn!”

“I am facing the truth, which you also need do. A match between us would never be allowed and if anyone discovered what we’ve been doing, I would be shunned and you know this.”

“I know I love you. And I want you to be mine. I want everyone to know you are mine. To know that I am yours.”

“You don’t love me, you love the idea of me.”

“How dare you?” He stalked past you to gather up the skins, the now-empty bottle of wine you’d shared when you first arrived in grove. He stowed them in his rucksack, then fastened said rucksack to his pony’s saddle. “How dare you think to tell me what I feel and why I feel it? Think you when I said I love you, I was lying? That I didn't mean it? Do you think I would say such a thing and not mean it?”

“It was the glow of the moment talking.” Why couldn’t you just stop talking? Your tongue seemed far more determined than ever to destroy your relationship with Thorin far sooner than it had to be done. Your heart ached. Your eyes stung. And yet, short of stepping on said tongue, you couldn’t seem to hold back your words. “Go find one who is better suited for you, Thorin. One who is fit to be your queen. For we both know she is not me.”

He shook his head, muttering, “Kunbûnaul,” beneath his breath as he swung up onto his pony’s back. “If that is what you wish.”

You just stared up at him, your heart aching as you knew this was how this had to play out, even as it broke your heart to utter your next words. “It’s what must be done.”

“Fine.” He nudged the pony’s side and your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he rode off and left you in the suddenly thick silence. Not even the rush of water permeated that silence. Your eyes stung, but you managed to hold back your tears when you turned to walk down to the water.

You’d loved Thorin for so long. At first, you hated him. Just wanted to show him up and prove you were every bit as skilled and capable a warrior as he was. You did that, of course, but you also found so much more than just the satisfaction of making him eat his words where you were concerned. You’d never loved anyone except your father and that was hardly the same thing.

And it wasn’t only the physical pleasure that you loved, although you did absolutely love all that went with making love with him. However, it went so much deeper than that. You could and did talk about everything with him, from the utterly serious to the absolutely absurd conversations that left you both in tears from laughing so hard. There was no one else in the whole of Middle Earth you wanted to share things with as you did with him. He was the first person you wanted to see each day and the last one you wished to speak with each night. Thorin knew you better than anyone else ever could. 

With him, you felt complete. You felt whole. He didn't try to change you, didn't try to make you feel as if you were wrong for not being like the other dwarrowdams in Ered Luin, for being hopeless where the more feminine arts were concerned—you had far more skill with a blade than a sewing needle any day of the week. He tried to convince you being only half-dwarf was perfectly acceptable to be with him. 

Except you knew it wasn’t. Not in the end, any way. And when he’d first brought up the subject of marriage, you laughed it off. Afterglow talking, since it came about after a very romantic tryst beneath a full moon and under a sky filled with glittering stars. But then he kept bringing it up, and each time, you tried to gently steer him the other way. How could he not see that you were unfit to be his bride? Why did he refuse to accept it? He was far more sensible than that, and not normally given to flights of fancy. 

But this time, as he sank against you, his body trembling, his lips gentle as they swept along the side of your neck, he whispered, “Marry me, mimûna… marry me so we might spend every night this way. So I can hold you as we drift off to sleep and when I wake up, your face is the first thing I see each morning.”

It was the first time he’d actually proposed to you. Your heart ached so badly as you shook your head. 

“You know I cannot do that.”

“You can. You need only say yes.”

If only it was as simple as saying yes. You would do so in a heartbeat if it was, but the world did not work that way. Not for you, anyway. 

You picked your way around the rocks, around fallen trees, through the reeds, to the sandy bank at the water’s edge, where you sank into the chilled earth and drew your knees in and wrapped your arms about them, watching the river rush by. It flowed by swiftly, a wide brownish-black ribbon that cut through the earth and disappeared around a bend not far from where you sat. More than once at the height of the summer heat, you and Thorin splashed in the river, melting into one another, bodies entwined, lips locked, as he tried to show you things he couldn't necessarily put into words. You wished so badly to believe that your love for one another would be enough for any of the obstacle you were sure to face, should you be foolish enough to accept his proposal. But you were a realist and knew the truth—it was nothing more than a pipe dream at best.

The sun sank low in the western sky and as dusk crept in, so did a hint of a chill. You’d lost track of the time and when you finally returned home, your father was nearly apoplectic with worry.

“Where have you been?”

“I beg your pardon, ’adad,” you said, shrugging out of your light coat to hang on the peg by the door, “I went for a walk and got myself a bit lost.”

He didn't look as if he believed you, but merely shrugged and ladled a bit of stew from the pot over the fire into a bowl and passed it to you. He filled one for himself, then you both sat at the small table, where you’d shared so many meals, just the two of you. A fire crackled low on the hearth in the sitting room as well. Winter was creeping in and it wouldn’t be long before every hearth would be ablaze to ward off the chill. 

It was only unfortunate that nothing could removed the chill of loss that seeped into your bones. 

“I had an interesting visitor earlier,” he said, dipping his spoon into the thick broth.

“Really?”

“Thorin Durin.”

You froze, and looked up to meet your father’s worried eyes. “What—whatever did he need you for?”

“He came to ask me something. About you.” He lowered his spoon into his bowl, letting it come to rest against the side of it with a soft clink. “He wished for me to give him my blessing to court you.”

“What?” The blood drained from your face, leaving you cold and numb. What did he think asking your father would accomplish? It would still change nothing where the rest of the clan was concerned. “When did he do this?”

“Not quite an hour ago.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you struck up a relationship with him, raklûna? Be honest with me.”

You paused, using the bowl of your spoon to push a bit of turnip deeper into the thick, peppery broth. There was no sense in trying to lie. Your father would know. He always did. 

Looking up, you swallowed hard and nodded. “I have, ‘adad, yes.”

“And do you wish to marry him?”

“I would in heartbeat. But—” 

“But what?”

“I cannot be his wife and we know this and he knows it and—”

You went to shove back from the table, only to have him grab your by the hand to hold you still. “Why? He told me he loves you and he sounded so very sincere that I do not doubt him. Do you love him back?”

“Does it matter? I am not full-dwarf and not worthy—”  

“Balderdash!” He shook his head. “You are every bit as worthy as any full-blood dwarf and I’ll not listen to you spew such garbage as to tell me otherwise! Have I not raised you to be proud of who you are? Of where you come from?”

“Well, yes, but— ”

“I told him he has my blessing, raklûna, for he does. If you love him, then you should be with him. And you are every bit as worthy as any other woman in Ered Luin. Even more so, for you’ve proven yourself time and again where he is concerned.”

“‘Adad, it is of no matter now.” Your appetite drained and you pushed your bowl away. “I’ve already sent him away. He doesn’t love me, but rather loves the idea of loving me.”

“Sent him away? You sent him to our front door, is where you sent him, you know.”

“Which he shouldn’t have done.”

“Why?” Your father shook his head, his expression graver than you’d ever seen. “Raklûna, do not be so foolish as to think you know his mind better than he himself knows it. To do so would be a colossal mistake. One you will regret making and very soon.”

“I know, but it changes nothing.” You pulled your hand from beneath his, sat back, wiped your mouth, then rose from your chair. “Excuse me, ‘adad, I have a bit of a headache.”

He didn't argue with you, but let you leave and once you were safely ensconced in your small bedchamber, you slid down along the closed door, buried your face in your hands, and gave into the tears that had plagued you since Thorin rode out of the glade. 

You lay there in the dark, unable to sleep, just staring up at the ceiling. You had no idea what time it was, but your father was still awake, moving about the sitting room, judging by the creak of the floorboards. He was right. It was a colossal mistake to assume you knew Thorin better than he knew himself.

And now you’d ruined everything. 

For a few short months, you’d been so happy with him. You’d allowed yourself to believe there could be a future with him. And when the time came when you were faced with that future becoming reality, what did you do?

You ruined it.

“Blasted fool,” you muttered, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “You absolute idiot. You had all you wanted and threw it away. And for what?”

The knock at the front door made you jump at first. But then your heart leaped into your throat and your pulse pounded through your head when you heard Thorin’s deep voice. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

You could almost see your father shaking his head. “Not at all, son. She is in her room.”

Footsteps drew near and you held your breath until black dots danced before your eyes, your heart racing so madly, you wondered which would make you faint first.

He didn't knock, but just opened the door, filling the doorway like an avenging angel of sorts. Rain spattered his dark green traveling cloak, covering it with dark splotches. He said nothing at first, but glowered at you as he’d done in the glade.

“Will you hear me out?” he finally growled, coming fully into the room to close the door behind him.

You nodded. “I will.”

“Good. I love you. And I care not what anyone might say or think about that. And I am not so foolish to think that it will be a smooth journey, should you accept my proposal. But, I am foolish enough to believe that together, we will find a way to get through it, that we can and will make it work and in time, it won’t matter. 

“But know this, there is no one else I wish to be with. There will never be anyone I will wish to be with, either. If I cannot have you, I will not have another.”

“Thorin, are you certain this is what you want?”

“How can you ask me that?”

“I have to know.”

He crossed to you, catching your hands to draw you up and into his arms. “I am yours, as I have been since the first time we were together. I love you, you know. I love you and I care not how hard I might have to fight for you. You are worth that. We are worth that. I wish I could make you see that’s truly how I feel.”

“I do see it,” you told him softly, easing your arms about his neck. “And I am so sorry for what I said, for my foolishness. I do love you back, you know. So very much.”

“So, will you have me? Just as I said the first time we were together.”

You smiled and drew him down to meet your lips. His arms tightened about your waist, his hands sliding down over your backside. He backed you toward your narrow bed, gently pushing you down onto it and as he covered you, you smiled up at him and whispered, “My father is just in the next room.”

Thorin smiled, his eyes dancing with mischief as he said “So be very quiet, mimûna.”

“Thorin!”

“What?” He bent to kiss you, his lips teasing and gentle. When he drew back, his eyes glittered in the low light of the candle flickering on the small desk by the windows. “Will you marry me or do I have to compromise you right here and now.”

“I’m fairly certain you’ve already done that.”

“I’ll do it loudly enough now to leave no doubt in your father’s mind what I’m doing to his daughter.”

Your cheeks grew warm. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Do you wish to find out? Or will you simply stop being so blasted stubborn and say yes?”

You sighed as you smiled up at him. “Ask me again, kurduwê,” you told him, tracing a finger along the edge of his beard. “Ask me to marry you.”

He brushed your lips with his, murmuring, “Will you marry me?”

You slid your arms about his middle and pulled him flush against you. “Yes."

Chapter Text

You paced. You couldn’t help it. You simply could not sit still. How could anyone expect you to, when you had so little idea of what was going on? 

Back and forth, you strode almost the length of the surgical waiting room. Your nose had long since gone blind to the antiseptic smells and your ears had gone deaf to the squeaks of rubber soles against tile as doctors and nurses hurried along the hallway just beyond the open waiting area. 

John had been in surgery for almost two hours now. All you knew was that he’d been wounded in Iraq and airlifted back to London in the wee hours of the morning. And the only reason you knew that much was because John’s daughter, Lexie, called you to tell you. You had no idea the full extent of his injuries beyond that, but that didn't stop you from going straight to Kennedy Airport and catching the first direct flight to London you could find. You’d arrived in London that morning, and as bleary-eyed as you were, you went straight to the hospital, where you found both Lexie and his ex-wife, Diane, in the same waiting area. 

Diane refused to acknowledge your existence. It was difficult to blame her. You did have an affair with her husband, after all. And while you weren’t the sole reason for their divorce, which was finalized only a few weeks earlier, you definitely played a role in it.

Lexie took a bit longer to warm up to you. She and her father were not exactly close, and she harbored plenty of anger, plenty of resentment toward him even before you came along. Still, you refused to give up on her on the rare occasions when she came to visit John, and little by little, she thawed toward you to a certain extent. To your surprise, she actually seemed to have accepted your presence in her life, in her father’s life. It was a start.

Every time a person wearing a white coat passed the area, you froze and your heart stopped beating momentarily. You were’t John’s wife. They most likely would give you no information. All you knew was he’d been wounded. That was it. You didn't know if the surgery was exploratory, or life-saving. And time had all but stopped since you arrived.

So you paced.

“He’ll be okay,” Lexie said softly as you passed by her chair for probably the twentieth time.

“I just wish someone would tell us something,” you said softly, glancing at the nurses’ station, as if someone would magically read your mind and come put it at ease.

“They won’t tell you anything.”

“Mum,” Lexie glared at her mother, “not now, okay?”

Diane rolled her dark blue eyes and turned her attention back to the book she’d brought with her. You wanted to tell Diane you never meant to fall for her husband, never intended on having an affair with anyone, ever. But there was no point. What you meant or didn't mean to do didn’t matter. You did it. That was all Diane cared about, you were sure. And in all honesty, you couldn’t fault her. You would be just as angry, should you be in her shoes. 

So, you paced. 

And you thought. 

And you paced some more. 

Rain pattered the plate glass windows beyond the banks of uncomfortable wood and vinyl chairs in the waiting area. Of the two dozen chairs, about half were occupied. You didn’t care about sitting, however. You simply couldn't do it. Too much nervous energy. 

But the rain splinking off the glass reminded you so much of the day you first met John Porter, in New York City, where you worked and where he was visiting. Your eyes stung and your throat tightened as you stared down at the busy street below while your mind went back to that fateful morning.

Rain poured down against the warm cement, the warm pavement, to make an already steamy July morning steamier still. The only thing worse than trying to hail a cab after a Broadway show or Rangers game, was trying to get one during a rainstorm at rush hour. 

Finally, you flagged one down, only to have a giant of a man try to snake it out from you by reaching for the door handle just as you did.

“What the—what’re you doing?” You slapped his hand away. “Get your own fucking cab.”

“It’s pouring out here and I saw it first.”

“You saw it first? That’s not how it works.”

You yanked open the door and tried to angle yourself between him and the backseat. But then you made your fatal mistake.

You looked up at him.

He was gorgeous. His black hair lay plastered to his skull and water dripped off his nose and chin, but that did nothing to detract from his utterly handsome face. You would probably regret it, but that didn't stop you from saying, “Where are you going?”

“Times Square.”

“I’ll split it with you because I’m going that way, too.”

He didn't smile, but bobbed his head. “Good enough. Get in.”

You did, sliding across the seat to let him slide in alongside you. “Times Square, please.”

Your company sank into the seat alongside you. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You’ll be out there forever trying to catch another one.”

“You’re not kidding.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending droplets in all directions. Then he held out that same hand. “John.”

You took it despite its damp state and introduced yourself, adding, “Where are you from?”

“What makes you think I’m not a local?”

He smiled as he said it and he went from handsome to utterly, fucking gorgeous. But you managed to keep your cool, saying, “I was thinking Long Island, Jersey, maybe. You’re telling me you’re not?”

He chuckled. “Staten Island, actually.”

“That explains it. It’s nice to meet you, John-from-Staten-Island.”

He grinned. “Nice to meet you, too.”

You fell into easy conversation with him, talking about everything from local politics to the upcoming World Cup soccer tournament and the cab ride seemed to be even shorter than usual. Never were you so sorry to reach your destination as you were that morning. Letting this handsome stranger get away seemed like a terrible idea, but you’d reached Times Square and had no real excuse to delay him. But then, as fate would have it, when you both climbed out of the cab and stood under the overhang of the New York Times headquarters, John looked at you and said, “Are you free for lunch today?”

“Today?” God damn it! You wanted so badly to say yes, but you were due to be in meetings until well into the afternoon. “No, I’m not. Sorry.”

“Give me your number.” He held out his cell phone. “I’m in the city for another two days. You’ve got to have a free moment sometime in the next couple days.”

You put your number in and figured you’d never hear from him again.

Except the next morning, you were back at the Times building, when your phone went off. John. Three hours later, he had you pinned to the door of his hotel room and you’d never tugged a man’s clothes off as quickly as you did his.

He held you easily against that door, the wood cool and sleek as you slid up and down it with each one of his long, hard thrusts. You wrapped your legs about his waist, your arms about his neck, and let the white-hot pleasure just boil you alive. 

And that was only the beginning. You and he left no surface untouched, left no bit of skin untouched, unkissed, unloved. And when you finally made it to the bed, you fell asleep wrapped up in one another and utterly exhausted and wholly spent.  

Sex with him was incredible. Amazing. Unbelievable. You’d never had such fantastic sex and had never been with a man who’d made you come as much or as hard as he did. You were surprised you didn't just melt into a puddle in the middle of the bed you’d both thoroughly destroyed.

You’d noticed the wedding ring in the cab, and he confirmed over lunch that he was married, but that he and his wife were separated. You knew it was all bullshit most likely, but you couldn’t resist him. His pull was that powerful over you. And being with him made you feel things you never knew possible. You’d never before ever thought you’d be having an affair with a married man, but there you were, and any time the guilt bit into you, you fought to ignore it. 

You fell in love with him.

He fell in love with you. 

And now…

“I didn't know it at the time, but it was the best day of my life.” You whispered this to yourself, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass in wildly crooked rivulets. Since that day, you fell deeper in love with John, and him with you. The last time you’d seen him in New York was the day he told you he’d filed for divorce from Diane. Since then, you’d been to England four times before this fateful trip. 

His mission in Iraq came up suddenly, but he called you two nights ago to tell you he’d be home and you should come as you’d originally planned. It was later that night that he—

A small woman in hospital scrubs came into the waiting area. “I’m looking for the family of John Porter?”

Your heart stopped beating and your face went cold as the blood drained from it. Both Diane and Lexie looked up at the same time, their expressions no doubt mirroring yours. Lexie cleared her throat. “I’m his daughter.”

“I’m Dr. Lee. I operated on Mr. Porter and he’s now out of surgery and it went well, but he’ll be in recovery for a few hours more, so if you’d like to go get something to eat and come back, you should be able to see him then.”  Her dark eyes fell on you as she asked you your name.

When you told her, she smiled. “He was asking for you before we put him under. If you’ll come with me, I’ll update you on his condition.”

Diane bolted up from her chair. “Wait… she gets to hear, but I don’t?” 

“Mr. Porter gave me permission to discuss his condition with her, yes.”

“But I’m his wife.”

You looked over at her and without thinking replied, “You mean you’re his ex-wife.”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Lee said with a mild smile, “but I cannot discuss his condition with you, ma’am. You’re no longer legally married and he’s not given me permission to divulge any information to you, I’m afraid.”

“So, the slut gets to know but I—”

“Mother,” Lexie growled, rolling her eyes, “let it go.”

Diane sank back into her chair, still scowling, and you followed Dr. Lee down the hallway to to a quiet alcove where she assured you John was out of danger. He’d been shot in the shoulder, but it was clean through and through, and while he’d need physical therapy, he should regain full use of his arm in time. 

Relief surged through you hard enough that you sagged against the wall. Dr. Lee patted your arm and told you once more that once John was brought back to his room, you’d be able to see him. 

You took her advice and went down to the cafeteria, even thought all you wanted was a coffee. While you sat and nursed it, Lexie appeared, dragging over a chair to sit across from you.

“I’m sorry about my mum,” she said by way of opening. “I think she’s still bitter.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I was, too, for a long time. I wanted to hate you, you know.” Lexie rolled her water bottle between her palms. “I tried to hate you, even. I thought Mum was right and you were a harlot, and a whore and all that… but… that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

“I don’t know I deserve fair from you,” you managed to say softly, meeting her blue eyes that were so much like John’s. “I certainly couldn't blame you for it, anyway.”

“Yeah, well,” Lexie shrugged. “I tried hating you. I tried hating Dad. And it was easy at first, but then I really began to think about it, which is weird because no one wishes to think of their parents as… you know… people.”

“I do know.” You tilted back your coffee cup to drain it, then lowered it to add, “And I am sorry for any pain I might have caused you.”

Lexie shook her head. Like like her father, her resting expression was serious, as if she was mad about something or at someone. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. And to be fair, he and my mum were having problems long before you. And he seems happier now.”

“I hope so.”

Lexie lifted her bottle of water for a sip, then lowered it to say, “I should go and get back. Mum would be furious if she knew I was here talking to you. She’s reading Dr. Lee the riot act now for not telling her anything.”

“She told me he’s going to be fine in time. He’ll need to work with a therapist to regain his full range of motion, but should be able to if he does. Tell your mother that. He’s going to be just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “She’s worried and I don’t blame her.”

Lexie nodded and then rose from her chair. “Thanks.”

You watched her walk out of the cafeteria and then settled back to finish your coffee. 

It was late when you stepped into John’s darkened hospital room. You came around the privacy curtain and stopped. John was quiet and still, his eyes closed. His skin was paler than normal, a sharp contrast to his black hair. A sterile-looking white square of gauze had been taped across his left shoulder and he bore a bruise along his right cheek. An IV was taped into his right arm, dripping slowly into the vein. 

You could barely breathe as you stared down at him. You’d never known anyone who’d gotten shot before and while you’d seen the scars from past wounds on him, this one horrified you even more. It drove home how dangerous his job was, and had you questioning, and not for the first time, whether or not you were strong enough to be with him. Dealing with his ex-wife was difficult enough, this was far worse. 

A wood and vinyl chair stood on the far side of his small room, so you went and dragged it over as quietly as you could, then sank into it. You stared at his right hand, lying flat against the crisp white hospital linen. All you wanted to do was slip your hand beneath his, to link your fingers, and hear him tell you everything would be just fine. But you were afraid of jostling the IV and although you knew you probably wouldn’t hurt him if, by some chance, that happened, you still held back. 

Instead, you sat there and watched him sleep. You were suppose to be in England three weeks earlier, but then he had to leave and you had to switch things around. When he’d called you to tell you he’d be back within the a day or two, you rearranged things again, but let him know you weren’t happy about it. Your boss wasn’t happy. No one was happy. 

But then his voice grew low and growly as he promised to make it up to you, and your irritation with him faded. You had no idea what he had planned, as he’d gotten very secretive when you’d asked, but you were absolutely looking so forward to seeing him again. It’d been almost two months since you were last together, as he worked for the British military and in a covert fashion. He was based in England, you were based in the US, and you saw each other whenever possible, and whenever possible could range from days to weeks to even months. This time around, you practically ached for him. This wasn’t exactly how you planned to spend this time in London with him. But somehow, seeing him like this now, knowing what had happened to him, you didn't care much about the change in plans now. They no longer mattered.

“Hey, you’re here…”

You jumped at the sleepy purr rising from his lips and looked up to see his eyes opened. Mere slits, perhaps, but they were open. In a heartbeat, your eyes stung and your throat tightened. “Hey—” your voice cracked and you winced, clearing your throat to try again. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing serious,” he said, his voice still soft. The sheet made a low rustling sound as he slid his hand toward you.

You shook your head as his fingers closed over your hand. “It is not nothing serious,” you told him, shaking your head. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t even know, it happened so fast. But, really is nothing serious. The bullet went through cleanly and they got me out of there as quickly as they could.”

You wanted to ask him where he’d been, but you knew he wouldn’t tell you. You never knew where he was going or what he’d be doing when he went out on assignment. And even if he’d had the clearance to tell you, he wouldn’t. More than once, he’d mentioned his concern for your safety for being involved with him. You hated that part of his work, hated the secrecy, but you understood it, and so when it started to get to you, you had to remind yourself that it was only a facet of his life. He gave you what he could, and it had to be enough if you wished to be with him.

Which you did. You really had no choice. You loved him.

He was discharged the next morning and back at his flat, he sank back into the pillows with a low sigh. “Oh, it feels good to be home.”

You gingerly lowered yourself onto the edge of the mattress. “Do you need anything?”

He shook his head slowly. “Everything I need is right here, love.” 

As he spoke, he reached over and his hand came to rest atop yours, his long fingers curling over your hand. You looked down, tracing the back of his hand with your free one. Compared to yours, his hands were huge, but elegant. It was hard to believe they were hands that were trained to kill and had killed, because they’d never been anything but gentle with you. You traced along a vein that ran from his forearm across to between his middle and ring fingers, your throat so tight, you didn't trust yourself to speak. 

His fingers tightened over yours. “I’ll be okay, you know.”

“I know, it’s just—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat as you tried to shake the dark thoughts out of your head. “I’ve never known anyone who got shot before.”

“It happens. Comes with the territory.” His eyes grew a bit glassy, most likely from the painkillers he’d taken when you first got back to his flat. “Come and lay next to me, love.”

You carefully stretched out alongside him, careful not to jostle him too badly. As his arm tightened about you, your eyes overflowed. You couldn’t help it. You’d never worried so much for anyone before and those long hours in the waiting area wrought havoc on your emotions as well. 

He just held you as you cried, shifting ever so slightly to press a kiss into the top of your head, and when you finally went still, he whispered, “Shh… love… I’ll be fine in time. I will.”

“I know… I—I just…” You lifted your head. “Don’t ever fucking do this to me again, got it?”

“I’ll do my best, love.” He gave you a teasing squeeze. “Promise.”

“Good. Because if you do… I’ll… I’ll… well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but you won’t like it. I promise you that.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He kissed the top of your head again. “I love you.”

You peered up at him. “I love you, too.”

A comfortable silence fell over you, only to be broken a few minutes later when he murmured, “Do you wish me to retire? I’ve put in the time and can do so, if you would prefer that.”

You could only stare at him. No man had ever been willing to give up anything for you before John Porter came into your life, and yet there he was, offering to do just that. It left you at a bit of a loss because as much as you wanted to make that demand, you knew you couldn’t. Not if you didn't want him to come to resent you in time, and you were afraid that was exactly what would happen. 

You drew in a deep breath and slowly shook your head. “No. I don’t. I want you to be careful.” 

His eyes softened. “I was careful, love.”

“Then be more careful.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Good.” You lay your head against his chest once more. 

His fingers moved lightly over your hair and it was quiet once more. But it was comfortable, easy quiet, and you thought he’d probably fallen asleep. 

But then, he said, “How would you feel about living here?”

“In London?”

“With me.”

“What?” You lifted your head to gaze up at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “I am. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’m tired of only seeing you every few weeks or every couple of months. So, it’s either I retire from the service or you come live with me.”

“John…”

“What?”

“It’s the pain meds talking, isn’t it?”

“No. I was going to ask you regardless. This just makes it a bit more difficult to say no.”

“Are you suggesting you got shot on purpose.”

“Would it make you say yes if I did?”

“It would make me want to kick your ass and say no.”

He offered up a sleep grin. “Then I didn’t. It simply worked out that way.”

You pressed your lips together. Your company had an office in London and a you could probably ask for and get a transfer. But did you want to uproot your life and move across the ocean for him, for a man who could and would be called away and sent God only knows where for weeks or months at a time? 

His fingers slowed, his voice a bit sluggish as he murmured, “Take all the time you need to decide, love. I’ll be here."

Chapter Text

“Do you love her?”

No words ever hurt so much to ask, yet there you were, fighting to keep your lips from trembling, your eyes from overflowing, as you sat across from Lucas. You’d chosen the coffee shop purposely because it might keep you from melting into a mess of sobbing goo when Lucas finally told you the truth. You’d suspected he’d been cheating on you for some time now, but hadn’t been able to muster up the courage to ask him until now. 

He’d been pulling away from you for weeks, ever since he returned from New York City. You’d invited him over to your flat for dinner the previous night, determined to find out why he’d been so distant. He’d been in the bathroom when his phone rang. The caller was from the United States.

New York.

You waited and when his voicemail chime went off, you listened to it. A woman. American from the sounds of it. Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as the American ended her call with, “Love you, Lucas. Talk to you soon.”

All through dinner, you debated about whether or not to tell him what you knew. Then his phone rang again. He picked it up, looked at the screen and said, “I have to take this,” and stepped out into the hallway. 

When he returned, he seemed anxious to leave and you weren’t surprised when he chose not to spend the night with you. You hadn’t slept together since his return from the States. You lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling, your heart breaking, your eyes overflowing. You didn't want it to be over. You loved him. 

He agreed to meet you when you called him that morning. You tried to sound as if nothing was amiss, but had the feeling he wasn’t buying it. And now, as you sat across from him, waiting for his answer, you found it hard to breathe. 

You didn't doubt the hurt in his eyes was genuine, but it changed nothing. You couldn’t trust him and without that… what else did you have?

“Lucas, if you care about me, even just a little bit, you’ll be honest with me.”

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it poking up in black spikes pointing in all directions. He looked exhausted, dark smudges beneath his piercing blue eyes, equally dark stubble shadowing the lower half of his face. You wanted so badly for this to be a dream, to wake up and find yourself back in your cozy flat, curled with him beneath the covers, your head on his chest, his arms tight about you. You wanted him to gently tease you for your vivid imagination, but reassure you there was no one else and there never would be.

Instead, he looked pained as he said, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You never meant to hurt me…” You shook your head, your hand tightening about the coffee cup before you. It wouldn’t take much to fling it at him, to douse him in piping hot, fresh brewed French vanilla coffee. It would be the least he’d deserve. “What did you think would happen, Lucas? That you would just pretend it never happened and keep lying to me? That I’d never find out.”

He sat back in his chair. “No… I was going to tell you. I just had a few things I needed to get settled first.” His blue eyes flicked up to meet yours. “But, know I never planned on this happening, and I am truly sorry that I’ve hurt you.”

“She’s still in New York, isn’t she?” You didn’t know why you pressed. It just dug into your brain, this need to know all of the details where this woman was concerned. All you knew was she and Lucas had been lovers at one point, but had broken up, only to be reunited when they worked an assignment together in New York. You didn’t know her name, or what she looked like, only that she had stolen Lucas from you and that made you want to kill. 

He nodded. “She is.”

“And do you love her?”

You’d hoped for some hesitation, some reluctance to commit to the notion. Perhaps then you could chip away until he realized what a mistake he was making in dumping you for this whore. Maybe then, you might be able to salvage this relationship, which was something you would be willing to try. Lucas had that sort of pull over you. You would do almost anything to convince him to stay with you.

You realized the folly of your wish when he offered up a slow nod. “I do, yes.”

“I see.” You stared down at the nicked tabletop, your eyes stinging furiously. The coffee shop was on the crowded side, the air heavy with the scent of freshly roasted coffee, and abuzz with the many conversations going on around you, but that didn't matter. It didn't stop the tears that flooded your eyes. You couldn’t hold them back, your heart shattering as Lucas slowly got to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft and you didn't doubt his sincerity. 

You looked up at him. “I wish I could go back in time to when I was the one you loved. When I was the one you swore you’d never hurt. You tell her that now, don’t you? You lie to her now as you were lying to me all this time.”

“No.” He shook his head as he pushed in his chair. “That’s how I know I had to be honest with you. How I knew I had to tell you what happened in New York. She knows about you. She knows I’m here right now having this conversation with you.”

Tears overflowed your lower lashes, streaking silently along your cheeks to hit the table with soft splops. “You should go then,” you managed to say, dragging the back of one hand across your eyes, ignoring the stares that you now attracted. Looks of sympathy came your way, but you tried to ignore them. You didn't want the sympathy of strangers. 

You wanted Lucas to love you once again. 

But instead, he straightened and came around to press a quick kiss into the top of your head. “I am truly sorry it happened this way, you know. I never meant to hurt you,” he said softly. “But I’m certain you will forget all about me in time, that you’ll find someone who deserves to have you in their life. Take care of yourself.”

You nodded, unable to speak and as he walked out of the coffee shop and disappeared down the sidewalk, you were positive you heard your heart actually shatter.  

Chapter Text

“Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît sortez de la pluie.”

You ignored the little man who’d come up to you to implore you to come out of the rain and back to the camp, where tents had been set up. But you ignored him. You’d rather drown in the rain, if at all possible. 

“Mademoiselle.” His hand came down on your shoulder. “S’il vous plaît.”

“Go away.” You shoved his hand from your shoulder. 

“Raymond a dit que je dois vous mettre à l’abri de la pluie, mademoiselle, alors s’il vous plaît, venez avec moi.”

You stood up. “I do not care what he wants. He can to go Hell and you can tell him I said so.”

The little man looked utterly horrified. “Mademoiselle!”

You ignored him as you marched away from the camp. You didn't care what Raymond wanted or didn’t want, just as he didn't care what you wanted or didn’t want. Fair was fair and he could go pound sand. You owed him nothing at this point. Nothing at all.

Two nights had passed since he ravished you by a swiftly flowing river, since he told you he loved you. Two nights since he left you by that same river after ravishing you, after telling you he loved you. 

Loved you. Bah. A joke, that. 

He claimed to love you, and yet he was still bringing you home, where your father was preparing to marry you off to a friend of his. A marriage you didn't want to a man who repulsed you thoroughly. A man you would rather die than be wife to, as dramatic as that sounded. 

Your heart had never ached as much as it over the last two nights. You didn't know it could ache as much as it still did. How could you be so foolish as to think the boy you loved was the man who’d come after you? That boy was long gone and the man he’d grown into was something of a stranger to you. 

No one stopped you as you strode further and further from the camp. Perhaps if you made it back to the road, you could lose Raymond for good and perhaps he wouldn’t trouble to find you again. There were plenty of trees and undergrowth around you. How difficult could it be to find a way to lose him for good and to lose yourself in the new life you so desperately sought?

Probably quite difficult, if not impossible. 

Still, what did you have to lose?

Don’t think about that. You would have plenty to lose. Raymond only had the barest of grips on his temper these days and you didn't doubt he could unleash ultimate fury when so provoked. Even so, you didn't stop, didn’t look back, but hurried on, determined to put as much distance between you and he as possible. You had to. Your heart wouldn’t survive otherwise. 

It was only unfortunate you were so obvious to your surroundings. You might have seen the man lurking in the bushes before he grabbed you and dragged you into the underbrush, a hand clamped firmly over your mouth, his arm wrapped about your waist. 

You fought back, fingernails digging into the skinny, ropelike arm wound about you, your heels slamming solidly into his shins. For all the good it did. He just jammed his hand harder up into your chin, until you thought your jaw would shatter. 

Fear poured into you, icy cold and flaming hot at the same time. No one would know what happened to you, would ever know where where to look for your body. Raymond didn't even know you’d gone, never mind what direction you were walking, and unless he knew to look through the underbrush, he would have no cause to think you’d left the road. 

You fought to breathe against that iron band wrapped about your middle, against the grimy hand grinding your teeth against one another. You tried to scream, but no sound emerged, only an odd rumble in your throat gave any indication of your attempt.

Branches, some with thorns, grabbed at you as if trying to pull you from the brute’s arms. They tore at your dress, at your arms and legs, leaving stinging scratches in their wake. Black dots danced before your eyes as your lungs screamed for air. 

If you let me live, I’ll not run again.

You had no way of knowing that at that same moment, Raymond rolled his eyes as René prattled on about how you’d run off. Again. He rubbed his face with both hands and then snapped, “Suffisant! I beg you, be quiet. And worry not. I will find her. Again. And when I do, she will not bolt again.”

He fastened his scabbard about his hips and strode from his tent, his mind whirling with all the ways he’d make you pay for making him find you. Again. His gut churned with fury, but that wasn’t the only thing that warmed his blood at the moment. The thought of turning you over his knee and paddling your backside aroused him as much as it satisfied his need to punish your wayward behavior. 

He caught sight of you about a half a mile down the road, but didn't increase his pace. His strides were almost twice yours and he knew he’d catch up to you with little effort. 

But then a shadow shot out from the side of the road and Raymond’s blood threatened to boil right out of his veins as the shadow grabbed you and dragged you off the road. 

His sword made no sound as he unsheathed it, and moved swiftly toward where he’d last seen you. Thinking he had you exactly where he wanted you, your captor seemingly didn't care how much noise he made as he forced his way through the foliage. Your muted shrieks blended with the snapping branches that cracked and crunched as they split, and the leaves that rustled with each footstep. 

He heard the soft thud of a body hitting the ground, follow by your bloodcurdling scream and the sound of a fist hitting flesh. A resounding slap followed.

Raymond burst through the underbrush, sword in his right hand. With his left, he snagged a handful of tunic and in one fluid motion, heaved the man off you. The lanky man crashed in a heap behind Raymond, who spun about and without hesitation, dug the tip of his sword into your assailant’s throat.

“And just what mean you by this?” he growled. “She is with me and is under my protection.”

The man stared up at Raymond, eyes wide and round and glinting with fear. “Please,” he began, his voice reedy and thin, “I did not know she was your woman. Take her. With—with my blessing.”

“With your blessing?” Raymond snorted, smirking down at him as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “She is not yours to give and I need no permission from you to take what is already mine.”

“If you do not want her, then I—”

His remaining words would never be heard as Raymond gave a flick of his wrist and severed an artery in the man’s neck. Blood spattered him but he ignored it and turned away. The last thing he saw of your assailant was the grimy hand clasping at his severed neck as he gurgled and choked on his own blood. 

You lay there in the underbrush, ears ringing, right eye watering from the blow that laid open your cheek, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you dragged in clean night air. A shadow loomed over you, fear biting into you once more until the shadow moved closer and you saw it was Raymond. 

Blood spattered his face, his tunic, as he re-sheathed his sword and crouched beside you. “Petite idiote,” he growled even as he brushed your hair gently from your face. 

“I know,” you managed to force past your trembling lips. Tears flooded your eyes but they had nothing to do with the throbbing pain in your cheek and everything to do with your relief at seeing him there, at knowing you were safe once more.

He gathered you in his arms, lifting you as if you weighed nothing, and you offered no argument. Instead, you wrapped your arms about him and buried your face in the rough linen shoulder of his tunic, whispering, “I am so very sorry.”

“As you should be, you little fool,” he rasped back, carrying you past the man now lying in a pool of his own blood, forever still. “Had I not seen you…”

He didn't finish and he didn't need to. You knew how it would have ended. You shivered against him, your stomach tossed and a brackish taste flooded your mouth. You fought to keep the meager contents of your stomach where they belonged. The last thing you wished was to be sick on him. 

You let out a shaky sigh, the tremble rippling through you nonetheless. Perhaps it was only instinct, but his arms tightened about you and his voice grew oddly gentle as he said, “You’re safe now.”

“I know. You—you killed him.”

“Not nearly as slowly as he deserved, however.” 

You shuddered at the coldness of his voice, as if he’d done no more than put down a sick or wounded animal instead of killed another man. He skidded down the slope back to the road, losing his footing twice before he was on somewhat even ground again and you said, “You can put me down now.”

Raymond did just that, but his hand remained firmly at the small of your back. “You still think to run from me? Haven’t you learned yet, you cannot escape me? Or, if you did, what fate surely awaits you somewhere on the road between here and wherever you think to run.”

Hot shame poured into you, along with an equally hot feeling of idiocy. You knew how dangerous it could be, a lone woman traveling, and at night no less, and yet, you didn't stop think. And now the last thing you wanted or needed was a lecture from him. You pressed a hand into his chest and tried to push yourself free of him. “Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Raymond! Unhand me at once!”

His fingers only pressed harder against you, holding you fast no matter how you shoved against him. You looked up at him and shook your head. “You save me from rape, only to send me to a man who will think nothing of doing just that to me. Why?”

“The choice is not mine. The contract was not mine.”

“So you’ve said and we’ve had this conversation already and I’ve no desire to hear how stupid you think me to be.”

“I think nothing of the sort,” he said softly, shaking his head even as he continued to refuse to release you. “But, I have also no say in the matter, as I’ve my own bargain to honor.”

You stopped fighting him, a sudden weariness seeping into every fiber of your body. Instead, you heaved a mighty sigh and sank against his chest. “Why do you insist on bringing me back? You know what will become of me if you do.”

Now he stepped away from you, the hand on your back moving away from you as he did. “As I’ve said more than once already, the decision is not mine to make.”

“Nor is it mine, apparently. But the difference is, it affects me.” 

He reached for your hand. “It is of no matter. We must go back.”

You stared down at the long, thick fingers wrapped about your wrist. Your entire arm tingled from his touch and when you looked back at him, you were certain you saw hints of pain in Raymond’s piercing blue eyes. “You don’t wish to take me back,” you said softly, “do you?”

For a moment, his gaze wavered and he shook his head. “I don’t, no.”

“So, then, why are you?”

“Because it is what I was hired to do.” His voice was low, his growl almost black in its depths. “And what I want is of no consequence.”

“You said you loved me,” you told him, coming closer to lay your free hand against his chest, over his heart. “Did you lie to me at that moment? Or is that why you came after me now?”

He pressed his lips together while you tried to brace yourself to hear that yes, he’d lied and no, he did not love you. You’d spent so long dreaming of winning him of winning his heart, and you thought you’d done just that the night along the river. It would gut you if he didn't feel the same. 

Then, he offered up a low sigh and met your gaze easily. “I did not lie.”

You tried not to smile even as your fingers curled into the wrinkled linen of his dirt-and-blood-spattered tunic. Your heart rose for the first time since he’d pinned you beneath him on the soft earth in the sweet-smelling grass two nights before. A pleasant warmth swirled through you at his unexpected confession and you looked up at him, meeting his eyes as you said, “Is that why you took me at the river? Was it done to make me unmarriagable to the Comte?”

“No.” He shook his head, his voice barely a low growl. “I did it because I was weak. I gave into the temptation because it was easier than fighting it.”

“Weak? You are anything but weak.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Am I so tempting to you?” You slid your hand up over his chest, his breath hitching as you reached his shoulder and let your fingertips just graze the side of his neck, which was prickly with stubble. Beneath your fingers, his pulse sped up and as it did, a feeling of triumph surged through you. He was so very close to capitulating. You felt it in the ragged edges around his breath, in the way he tensed beneath your touch, and as he brought a hand to your hip, his fingers tightened on you. 

“You need to leave me be,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I cannot be what you wish me to be and I will never be the man you need.”

“You already are him,” you said, letting your fingertips dance along the back of his neck. He drew in a sharp breath, and his eyes closed for a moment. 

A low sigh bubbled to his lips, one filled with longing, and at the end, he tacked on a breathless, “I cannot do this again. We cannot.”

“We can.” Your fingers curled of their own over his neck and you tugged him ever so gently toward you. 

His lips hovered above yours, his breath warm against them. They just brushed yours as he managed to grit, “It is out of my hands.”

“But not mine,” you told him. “I do not want to go to the Comte, Raymond. Not when I can stay here, with you.”

“You cannot—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss, your heart quickening as his hand on your hip slid around so his arm encircled you. You surrendered to him, winding your arms about his neck, your fingers slipping through the cropped hair prickly along his nape. He moaned softly into your mouth, his body tensing against yours.

He pulled back, but didn't break the kiss entirely, whispering, “Are you certain?” around it.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” you told him, drawing back to meet his eyes. “You’ve had my heart since I was a little girl, Raymond. Trust me with yours.”

“I have none.”

“Nonsense. Of course you do. You’ve never been anything but gentle with me. I mean, aside from your parting words the other night.”

To your surprise, a sheepish smile curved his lips slightly. “I was angry at myself for giving into that weakness, for taking something from you without knowing if you were willing to part with it.”

“How could you possibly think that? I would have gelded you if I didn't want to part with it. You ought but know that by now,” you told him, smiling up at him. “I’ve spent years dreaming of that moment. And it was just as wonderful as it was in those dreams.”

“Well, now I know you are playing me false.”

“I’m not.” You shook your head, your heart soaring up into the night sky as his eyes softened and his hands slid up along your back. 

He loomed over you, all broad shoulders and wide chest. Even without his armor, he was impressive to behold, and you wondered how much more impressive he’d be naked. There was only one way to find out.

You pushed up onto your toes and brushed his lips with yours. “Come with me.” 

“Come with you where?”

“You will see.” You pulled away from him and held out a hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

That gentle whisper touched you deep down in the center of your being. Somehow, you didn’t think he trusted easily and that he trusted you spoke volumes. He laid his hand in yours and you gave it a squeeze before leading him back to the road and down it, further away from the camp. “Where are you going?”

“There is a lake back here. We passed it but you were too busy ignoring me to see it.”

“I was not ignoring you. I was angry at myself for what I saw as my transgression with you.”

“Don’t be silly. I loved every moment of it.”

He stopped dead in his tracks at that, jerking on your arm in the process. “You did?”

You tugged back on his arm. “I did, yes. Does that surprise you?”

“It does.” He paused, then added, “But in a good way.”

You winked at him. “Come.”

He dutifully followed you down around the bend, until you came to a clearing. There, a small lake sparkled under the moonlight as if a million diamonds dotted its surface. You turned to Raymond, your heart beating twice its normal rhythm now and it sped up at the rare tenderness you saw in his eyes. 

His fingers tightened about yours and your mouth went dry as you whispered, “Will you have me, Raymond de Merville?”

He gazed down at you, then without a word, brought your hand to his lips to brush its back with a gentle kiss. “Do you know what you’re giving up?”

“Do you know what I’ll gain?”

His hand came to your sore cheek. “And this does not hurt?”

“Oh, no, it absolutely hurts,” you told him with a hint of a smile, “but I find the pain fades when you touch me.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded. “It is.”

He gently drew you into his arms and bent to press his lips to yours. You hadn’t lied. The moment his lips claimed yours, the pain receded to the farthest, darkness recess of your mind. He might have done many terrible things, might do many more terrible things, but you knew he would never intentionally hurt you. 

His arms tightened about you. He bent you back ever so slightly as his lips parted and his tongue plunged between your lips to sweep along yours in a lazy caress. 

You smiled against his lips, sliding your arms about his neck. The heat from his body sank into you, your travel-worn gown slowly growing too heavy and confining. Raymond’s hands slid up your back and a moment later, the bodice loosened, the night breeze a welcome caress on your overheated skin. 

Unlike the last time you’d been with him, there was nothing hurried or rough about him. He swept his hands over your back, caught the bodice to eased it from your shoulders, down your arms. You let him slip it off, then he hooked his fingers in the skirt and pushed it down, leaving you before him in only your thin chemise. 

He drew back, his gaze roaming slowly over you, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. He reached for you, catching the slightly frayed blue ribbon lacing your chemise closed, and tugged. The ribbon slipped free and his eyes never left yours as he caught the edges to draw them apart. 

“Belle,” he whispered as the linen parted to bare the inner curves of your breasts. The breeze stirred, but the heat of his stare kept you warm. At least, until he brought a hand up to draw your chemise away from you and then cupped your left breast. His palm and fingers were rough against your sensitive skin, but his touch itself was more gentle than you’d have ever imagined him capable of being. This was not the same man who, the last time you were together, merely lifted your skirts and took you.

No, this Raymond was your lover, his thumb gentle as it swept slowly about your nipple to send a ribbon of fire twisting through you. You bit down on your bottom lip as he brushed his thumb in the opposite direction, as he caught your nipple between thumb and forefinger to stroke, to roll, to gently pinch until you thought you’d go up in flames if he wasn’t careful.

Your eyes grew heavy lidded. Your breath smoked about its edges. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, worrying it as he tortured your nipple so sweetly. You felt it clear through to the center of your being, your core doing a slow melt with each teasing tug. Your head spun from the sensations rippling through you, the ones that had you reaching for him, your fingers curling into his tunic to grip it and steady yourself. 

He bent to you, his lips hot and his kiss molten as he seized your lips once more. Acting of its own accord, your hand curved against the bulge forming in his trousers, and as you traced your thumb along the solid ridge of his erection, he shivered against you, kissed you harder now, and his hand tightened about your breast to knead an achy fullness into it.

You ached to touch him, to feel his hot skin bare against yours completely. He let go of you, broke the kiss to lean away as you tugged his rough tunic up as far as you could reach. He smiled, gripping it by the back of the neck to whisk it over his head. Then he was back, his lips crashing against yours, his hands hot on your bare skin as they worked your chemise over your shoulders, down your arms, and it hit the ground at your feet atop your gown. 

He broke the kiss, shifting to let his gaze slide along your length. Your cheeks grew warm beneath his appraisal, the urge to throw your arms up and cover yourself surged through you with enough force that you started to just that, only to have him catch your wrists and shake his head, a rare, teasing smile on his lips as he said, “You are not hiding this from me.”

Heat swept through you at his lust-filled eyes, at the way they roamed over you, devouring you as they did. He stepped up to catch your face in his rough hands, tilting it so you looked up at him. His thumbs were gentle as they swept along your cheekbones. “No other man will ever touch you,” he growled. “You are mine.”

“You say that as if you expect me to fight you on it.” You couldn’t resist teasing him. How could he think you would ever even want another man? You’d dreamt of Raymond since you were in swaddling clothes, and two nights ago, you gave yourself willingly to him. He had to be mad to think you would ever seek out another now. 

When he bent to you, you melted against him, tried to tease him with your lips, your tongue, the same way he teased you. You caught the fastenings of his trousers, worked them open, and hooked your thumbs in the waist to push them down. As they slid down his thick legs, you slid down with them. Oh, your knight was an impressive man, thick and hard and ready for you already. You dipped closer, hesitating only slightly before running the tip of your tongue along his length. 

A low, rumbling purr rolled across the darkness, rolled through you, and his hands sank into your hair, where they twisted and gripped you as he murmured, “Take all of me…”

You weren’t exactly certain you could, but it was well worth a try, so you did, your lips slipping over him, closed about him, and you pulled him deep. His fingers twisted harder in your hair to the point where a sharp sting swept across your scalp, but then, as if he realized he’d hurt you, he eased his grip, murmuring. “I beg your pardon, love…”

You answered him with a slow glide of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, with a gentle stroke of your fingernails along the backs of those thick thighs. He shivered against you, rocked against you, met your teasing rhythm with his own, and gently thrust against you. A low string of endearments bubbled to his lips, broken up by oaths as he moved with you. You smiled as you teased him as well as you could, with long strokes, playful flicks, and soft pulls until he shivered against you, his body trembling as he neared his climax.

He pulled away from you then, and caught you beneath the arms to tug up to meet his ravenous kiss. His lips were ever so gentle and sweet as he swept a steaming kiss along the curve of your neck. Over the rise of your left breast, where he paused to take your nipple in his mouth and swirled the tip of his tongue about it until you let out a breathless laugh. You’d never seen Raymond so playful, smiling as he let your nipple pop free, then shot up to kiss your lips before moving down over your belly. 

He crept lower, moving slower with each pass. Soft kisses rained over your belly, followed by teasing nips that didn't hurt but made your toes curl from the sinful pleasure they sent thrumming through you.

When he came to to the thatch of curls between your legs, he offered up a smile that was beyond wolfish, that promised delightful sin and wicked pleasure as he whispered, “I wish to taste you,” and sank to his knees before you. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of your powerful knight bowing to you. He gazed up at you, offered a sinful smile, then bent to you, slipping into your slick folds with a low moan and dipped to slip his tongue into those curls. 

His first caress was slow and delicious. Fire raced through you as he slid down toward your entrance, then back up to circle your pearl. He laved it tenderly, then roughly, then traced a teasing circle about it. 

Each pass brought forth a new and delectable sensation to course through you. Your core clenched, melted, your hips rocked to meet each stroke. Your hands found their way into his hair and you fervently wished his hair was longer, so you had something to grip as you moved with him. He brought you closer and closer to the edge of madness, and his tongue swept over your aching pearl with no hesitation now, but with increased pressure and greater speed. Fire filled you. Knots twisted sharply deep within you. Unspeakable pleasure awaited you, white-hot and honeyed and you desperately wanted to taste it, to savor it, to let it wrap you in its arms and carry you out into the unknown. 

His hands pressed against your inner thighs to open your legs wider and when they did, he eased one back along you and then he slid a finger inside you, crooking it to stroke you as you teetered on that edge. One more pass and then—

You came undone against him him, the knots bursting to fill you with a bliss you never knew existed. You clenched around him, ground up against his hand, his lips, your fingers twisted tighter in the hair you managed to snag and he didn’t ease up as you shattered around him, as your knees threatened to go to jelly beneath you. 

“Raymond!” Your voice rose into the night like the cry of a nightbird as you surrendered to the nirvana wracking your body and robbing you of your senses. He continued caressing you with his tongue until you couldn’t stand it any longer, breathing, “Oh, mercy, please…” as you fought to get away from him. 

He slowed, then kissed your mound, and lifted his head to offer up that wolfish smile on his lips. Then he stood and swept you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing and splashed out into the lake with you.

The water was warm from the summer air and the sunshine that beat upon it all day, and he waded out until it was chest deep, and left you buoyant in his arms. You eased your legs about his hips, smiling at the low moan that rose to his lips in response. 

His lips found yours, his tongue twisted with yours and a moment later, he wrapped his hand about his cock and guided it into you. 

You hummed all around him, eagerly taking him deep, rocking your hips to make him moan softly above you. Water sloshed as he thrust, and while he was gentle with you, he still drove deep. You wrapped wet arms about his neck, and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. They were pale slivers of ice in the darkness, but not nearly as cold. He held your gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded with passion and soft as he whispered your name as he moved you against him to meet those delicious thrusts.

Unlike the night by the river, when he had to take care because of your pain, he drove deep. You gripped him with your thighs, let your fingernails sink into his shoulders, and his name rang out into the night as he surged hard and fast inside you. He was relentless in his thrusts, each one more powerful than the last to send a fiery pleasure tearing through you. 

Your name was a breathless growl against your ear, as were his gritted words of love that came with each powerful thrust. You wrapped about him, clinging to him, and when he trembled against you, you clenched around him, smiling as he arched hard, went rigid against you, moaning, “Mon amour,” as his release joined yours and he spilled hard inside you. 

His arms trembled even as they tightened about you, as the rest of his body trembled against yours. He nuzzled you, his face buried in your neck, his breath hot blasts against your skin, and you let your eyes close at the gentle kiss he swept along your skin. “Will you have me as your husband?” 

He said it so softly, you almost didn’t hear him. Almost. Tears stung your eyes as you angled back slightly to meet his tender blue eyes. You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling as you brushed his dark hair way from his forehead. “If you’ll have me as your wife.”

“There is no other I would have.” His eyes closed, his lips went slack for a moment as another ripple of pleasure swirled from your body into his. “Oh, love… I will speak to your father when we return.”

You shook your head. “We cannot return, Raymond. He will never allow it, will never break the contract he’s made with Comte de Verlaine.”

He shifted, easing himself from you, but held you still, his fingers pressing into your backside ever so gently. You waited for him to lower you, and hoped you’d be able to reach the bottom and keep your head above water, as he was over a foot taller than you. The last time you made love, he got up, dressed, and walked away, and you found yourself wondering if he would do just that again, leave you in the lake as he sloshed back to shore.

But this time, he offered up a rare smile and bent to brush your lips with his once more. “We will figure out what we’ll do come the morning.”

You snuggled closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder, your fingers skimming lightly through the dark hair bristly at the nape of his neck. “We should just turn and go wherever the wind takes us.”

He pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “Just go wherever the wind takes us?”

“Yes. Ireland. England. I don’t care.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze. “Who will stop us.”

“Your father will come looking for you.”

“He won’t even know where to begin the hunt.” 

“He is not so great a fool.” Raymond began to walk back to the shore, the tremble completely gone from his massive body now. Once you were back on land, you each swiped the droplets from your skin, and when you were sufficiently dry, he reached for his trousers. Your heart sank as you waited for him to simply walk away again.

He didn’t. Rather, he surprised you by helping you dress, buttoning the back of your wrinkled gown even as he swept your hair to one side and rained teasing kisses from your nape to first one shoulder, then back to the other. You’d never seen him this way before, and hoped with everything you had that it was not the last time you’d see it. You rather liked his playful side. 

Then, he caught you by the hand, linked his fingers with yours, and you strolled back to the campsite, his thumb grazing your hand with every other step.When you returned, he he brought your hand to his lips and whispered, “Rejoins-moi, mon amour.”

“Êtes-vous sûr?”

“I am very certain.” Those blue eyes sparkled more than you’d ever seen them do and it did the oddest thing to you. No one else was about, as they were all tucked away in their tents or bedrolls, sound asleep, so there was no one there to see you smile and follow him into his tent. And had you known what awaited you come morning, you would have made certain to savor every last moment with Raymond to its fullest extent. 

Chapter Text

His secretary rapped on the door, then opened it to poke her head into his office. “Mr. Proctor? You’ve a visitor.”

He looked up from the file he’d been studying. “A visitor? Who?”

“A Miss Williams.”

His gut kinked, although he tried to keep it from showing on his face as he set down his pen and shook his head. “Tell her I’m in a meeting and am not to be disturbed.”

“Of course.” Anna bobbed her head and drew back, closing the door behind her. As he tried to focus back on his work, his gut bubbled furiously. What did she wanted from him now? She’d already cost him his marriage and nearly cost him his family. So why, nearly a year after he ended their affair, was Abigail back? Her showing up at his office was only the latest in her attempts over the last few weeks to get in touch with him. She’d called and left voicemails on his cell, on his landline, with his secretary. They went ignored. He had no desire to see or speak to her, had moved on and wanted her to do the same. 

He finished up the work on his desk and as he emerged from his office and passed by Anna, he said, “If Miss Williams shows up again, she is not to be admitted, understood?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Proctor.” She smiled up at him. “Heading out?”

“I am. I have somewhere to be by eight.”

“A hot date?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

“Well, have fun and I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend.”

He drew on his coat and picked up his briefcase. “You, too, Anna.”

His steps echoed through the Mueller Building’s high-ceilinged atrium, and he slowed as he caught sight of Abigail waiting in the vestibule between the sets of doors. His gut kinked as he shoved the first door open and said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What else am I to do, when you won’t return my calls or see me?”

“Take the hint, that’s what. I told you, it’s over.”

“You say that but I don’t think you mean it.” She shot up from the narrow wood bench where she’d been sitting and reached for him. “I just need a minute, John. Just talk to me.”

He ignored her, striding through the second set of doors to step out into a beautiful late November day. Dappled sunlight spilled across the parking lot, and some of the trees still had a few their leaves left, while the others were bare and naked. Leaves that had been brilliant golds and reds and oranges were now dried up and brown, gathering along the edge of the parking lot, where the lawn rose higher than the pavement. With each pass of the wind, they scuttled across the lot, until they hit a car tire or the building itself. In another week or so, the landscapers would be around to sweep them up, but for now, they littered as far as the eye could see.

His BMW 540i sedan was parked in the far corner, and Abigail dogged him the entire way, saying, “Why won’t you just talk to me? What’ve I done that was so wrong?”

“We’ve been through this,” he said, aiming his fob at the car to unlock the door. As he reached it, he stopped and spun about. “I’ve lost enough because of you. Now, you need to leave me alone.”

“Because of me? Correct me if I’m wrong,” her dark eyes flashed with fury as she glared up at him, “but weren’t you the one who was married? I certainly wasn’t in that bed alone, now, was I?”

“Yes, I was married. And no, you were’t alone. But, that was then and this is now, and we are done.”

She grabbed his arm, her fingers clamping about him, digging into him like a falcon’s talons. “But, your divorce is final now, isn’t it? You’re free to be with whoever you want now, right?”

“I am.” He jerked his arm free and tugged open the driver’s side door. “And I’m seeing someone else, Abigail. And I am not letting you ruin this as well.”

“If that isn’t just like a man,” she growled, her eyes going narrow. “You are the one who’s married and yet, it’s my fault you can’t keep your dick in your pants!”

“Leave me alone, Abigail. I mean it.” He threw himself into the driver’s seat, turned over the engine, and without even a look up at her, whipped out of his space and took off toward the lot’s main entrance. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Abigail as possible. If he could find a way to remove her permanently from his life, he would gladly do it. 

You knew John was divorced. You’d met his three boys when things between grew serious between the two of you. They were still warming up to you, and you weren’t at all sure how long it should take, since you’d never dated a man who’d had children before. This was all new territory for you. They didn’t outright hate you, so you figured you were off to a good start, if nothing else.

You were supposed to be going away for the weekend with him. His sons were going to their mother’s and he’d suggested a trip to the lake for your first getaway together. You looked forward to it, since you rarely had a day off. Running Brewster’s Place took up so much of your time and you weren’t all that good at delegating responsibilities, but you were trying. After all, you were leaving your baby in your manager’s more than capable hands, and you promised yourself you would not obsess with checking on Kerry every hour or so.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

On Fridays, the coffee house was open until eight, and at ten of, the bell above the door chimed and you looked up to see an unfamiliar woman slip in. She was tall and slim, with dark hair pulled back into a loose bun, with just enough wispy tendrils trailing to give that adorably messy look you could never quite manage to pull off.

She came up to the counter, her dark eyes wide as she said, “Hi, can I get a large coconut coffee, light and sweet?”

“Sure.” You took a large cup from the stack, scooped a tablespoon of sugar into it, filled it a third of the way with half-and-half and then poured the coffee in. You stirred it, clapped a lid on and brought it back. “Three dollars even, please.”

The woman handed her a debit card, which went through with no trouble, and she took her receipt and her coffee to one of the tables over by the fireplace. There were only two or three other people lingering about, and Kerry was busy over in the back restocking the shelf of whole coffee beans you sold. 

At eight o’clock, the bell jingled and you smiled as John came through the doorway, handsome as ever in jeans and his Navy pea coat. He needed a haircut, his dark hair swept off to the left from the wind that whipped down along Davenport Street, which was closed to all but foot traffic. 

He smiled as you came around the corner. “A sight for sore eyes.”

“Is that so?” You closed the space between the two of you, slipping your arms about his waist and pushed up on your toes to brush his lips with a kiss. His beard came prickly soft against your cheeks, nowhere near as foreign to you now as it had been when you first began dating. Now you were more than used to the scraping and occasional beard burn in odd places. 

You broke the kiss. “The boys get off okay?”

“They did. And their mother was happy to have them for the weekend. She’s taking them to their grandparents up in Vermont to get some early season skiing in.”

“Skiing now?”

“Okemo’s season runs from November on.” 

Kerry came over then. “Hey, John. You ready for your weekend?”

“I am, indeed. I’m just waiting—” he glanced around and then his voice trailed off as he turned toward the fireplace. 

You saw his shoulders stiffen and you looked over at the woman with the light and sweet coconut coffee. “Is something wrong?”

John shook his head slowly. “No. Nothing is wrong at all.”

The dark-haired woman lowered the coffee cup and smiled. “Hi, John.”

“John?” You touched his arm. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” he told you, turning to you as he shook his head, but you didn't miss the darkness that dropped behind his blue eyes. He caught you by the hand. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“John,” Coconut Coffee called over, “I have to talk to you.”

You looked from him to her and back. “Who is that woman?”

“She’s no one—just someone I used to know.”

Your gut twisted. “Someone you used to know.”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you on the way to the lake.”

“John,” the woman set her cup down and rose, “I only need a few minutes, and as long as you’re here—”

“I don’t care, Abigail,” he cut her off, shaking his head. “I don’t have a few minutes to spare, so,” he turned back to you, “are you ready?”

Despite the apprehensive flutters in your gut, you nodded and from the corner of your eye, saw Abigail scowl. Where she’d at least pretended to be friendly earlier, now she radiated pure hostility. You didn't need to be told that at one point John had been involved with her, but she wasn’t his ex-wife. You’d seen Beth Proctor several times over the course of your relationship with him and while you weren’t what anyone would call friends, she didn't seem to mind your existence.

Not like Abigail, who glared at you now as if she’d just love to plant you six feet under ground. You’d never seen such hatred in anyone’s eyes as you did in those flat dark eyes that remained trained on you. Your blood actually ran cold at the venom she shot in your direction and without thinking, you linked your fingers with his. He tightened his about yours. “Let’s go, shall we? We’ve a long drive ahead of us.”

“I don’t want to leave Kerry here alone.” You turned to Abigail. “You need to leave now. The shop is closing in two minutes.”

You expected Abigail to argue, but she merely offered up a slight smile and stood, taking her coffee with her as she strode to the door. She pushed it open, but paused, and over her shoulder said, “He’ll come back to me, you know. He always does. It’s just a matter of time before he grows bored with you, just as he did with his wife and any other woman he’s screwed. You’re not special, you know. And I am very patient.”

John’s fingers tightened about yours enough that it actually hurt and when you looked up, it was to see such a look of rage on his face—his jaw clenched, his eyes radiating fury—that for a moment, he was downright frightening.

“Stay away from me,” he told her, shaking his head. “I’m not going to keep saying it. Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t call me. Don’t come to my office. Don’t come back here.”

“You say that now. You’ll change your mind.” Abigail threw the door the rest of the way open and strolled out into the darkness with a low, mournful whistle on her lips and somehow, you knew you hadn’t seen the last of her. 

Chapter Text

He was coughing again. Loud, harsh, hacking coughs echoed throughout your small house, just as they had for the last several weeks. Only in the last day or so, they came with a greater frequency and at all hours. He coughed and gasped for air and then came the plaintive, “Raklûna! Help me…”

You rose from bed, not even taking the time to jam your feet into your slippers, just as you did every time ’Adad called for you. You hardly even noticed the biting cold gnawing at the soles of your feet as you hurried to his room. As the days went on, ’Adad called for you more and more often, breaking your sleep into increments of no more than twenty minutes or so each night. You couldn’t recall a time when you were so tired, so worn down, so absolutely and utterly drained. It was barely dawn, and in your sleep-deprived state, you only just narrowly missed catching your toes on the doorway as you hurried to help him.

“Raklûna!” 

His voice was thready, but impatient and without thinking, you snapped, “I’m coming, ’Adad!”

You pushed open the door and your stomach twisted sharply at the foul stench of sick that filled the small room. He’d coughed hard enough to make himself vomit, so now you had that to clean up as well.

He sank back against the pillows, his face gray, his eyes sunken and glassy. Thankfully, he hadn’t been sick all over his nightshirt, and you immediately burned with guilt over that thought. He couldn’t help being sick, couldn’t help that he could only just barely breathe. Each breath was little more than a shallow rasp and he’d gotten to the point where the little bottles of medicine Narnerra had given you to control his pain no longer could even touch it. 

His arm trembled as he held out a hand to you, a handkerchief clutched in his opposite hand. “Sit me up,” he rasped, fighting to fill lungs that were riddled with disease to the point where they almost no longer worked. 

You nodded. “Let me clean you up and move you, so I might change the linens.”

“Plea—” Another coughing fit seized him, wracked his emaciated body until he fell back against the pillows fighting for air, and lowered the handkerchief now splattered with blood.

You swallowed hard and fought to put up some sort of invisible barrier between you and the scene of your father’s sickroom as you carefully helped him to his spindly legs and then to the chair in the corner, where he crumpled into it like an old shirt and wheezed softly. It was the only way you could whisk the sheets from the bed and wipe down what needed cleaning without being sick yourself. You balled up the soiled linens, proud of yourself for only gagging once, and hurried to drop them in the basket just inside the door. 

You remade ’Adad’s bed, but when you turned back to him, you couldn't bring yourself to try to heft him from the chair just yet. He’d grown so frail and weak, you were afraid that, despite your tiny size, you would break at least one, possibly more, of his fragile bones.

The illness came from out of the blue a few weeks back, just after the ball celebrating your upcoming marriage to Thorin Durin. ’Adad’s decline had been swift and steady and you knew it was but a matter of time before you were the only soul living in the cozy house he’d made into a home after your mother walked out. For so long, it had been just the two of you, and you were fiercely protective of him, even if resentment bit away at you as you changed his bed linens for the third time in a night or he slapped away a spoonful of nourishing broth because he was feeling belligerent and didn’t wish to eat. 

Overnight, he’d gone from the great burly man who loved to bake and cook and laugh, to the skeletal wraith now crumbled in the chair. His eyes, once dancing with mischief, were sunken and dull. He wasted away before your own eyes, and you were powerless to halt it. 

You tried not to think about that, tried not dwell upon it as you smoothed the clean sheets across the bed. Just beyond the dusty windowpanes, the first rays of morning sunlight spilled across the lawn behind the small house. The faint chirps and cries of ravens and other birds broke up the rattling wheeze of ‘adad as he struggled to draw each breath. He coughed again, but thankfully not as violently, and then rasped, “You should go and stay with Lady Dís, as she offered. The wedding is but days away.”

“I’m not leaving you, ’Adad. You need me here and I have to make certain you are well enough to walk me to Thorin on our wedding day, remember?” You forced a smile to your lips, forced your voice to remain upbeat and bright, like that sunshine just beyond the walls of his room. 

Keep his spirits up, Narnerra had told you, let him believe he will live to see his only child married.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do, when you knew the truth. He would not recover from this. Again, you banished the thoughts as you brought over a bowl of warm water and a rag. You dipped the rag into the water, and gently wiped his face, his chest, hands. Your heart ached beyond reason and your eyes stung like mad, although they remained dry simply through the force of your will. You would not cry in front of him. You simply refused to. 

“You should go, raklûna. You must. I need space away from you, you hover over me night and day…” He went quiet, fighting to drag in another breath. “And you need space from me. You need to sleep more. To eat more. Let Thorin sp—spo—” he scowled as he gagged softly, then let out a roar of a cough and spat, “spoil you.”

“Shhh… ’Adad,” you whispered, fighting back a wince as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. You dabbed at it with the rag, then dipped the rag back into the water. “There is time enough for that. We need get you healthy in time for the wedding.”

“How does he fare?”

Thorin’s deep voice came from behind you and you didn't have to look over your shoulder to know he stood leaning against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed, the frown of concern you’d seen him wear so often over these last weeks firmly in place.

He was your rock, your blacksmith who would one day be king. You would have gone mad weeks ago had it not been for Thorin. He held you when you cried, listened silently while you raged at the fates, and helped you clean up the messes that dying slowly created. When all else failed, he wrapped his thick arms about you and just hugged you, pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

Now, his boots thudded dully against the stone and his hands came down upon your shoulders. Dawn had just broken, but he stayed with you and had since ‘Adad grew weaker three days prior. The end was coming and soon and he refused to allow you to be alone. You didn’t care what anyone thought, you were just so very thankful he was there for you when you needed him the most. 

“He is doing well,” you forced yourself to say, offering your father another gentle smile as you patted his hand and tried not to notice how thin and bony it had become. To you, his hands had always been like paws, they were so big. He once told you that when you were a baby, he’d hold you in one arm, your head cradled in that paw, and would rock you to sleep on his forearm night after night. His hands created doughs that became the most delicious breads you’d ever eaten and pastries so light, they practically floated on air. His hands touched your forehead when you were sick to feel for fever, or swept a wayward lock of hair away from your sweaty face when you returned from another grueling training session with the man who had been your enemy and would now soon be your husband. They dried your tears and cradled your face and never once were raised to you in anger. 

“Do not let her fool you,” ‘Adad whispered, his head lolling slowly from side to side. “She is very much the dreamer…”

“I know.” Thorin’s hands tightened on your shoulders, then relaxed, only to tighten again. He gently kneaded the muscles, took away the dull ache that seemed to take up residence in your neck. “I’m afraid we’ve both spoiled her too much.”

‘Adad offered up a weary smile. “There is no such thing… a child unspoiled… is a child… unloved… ”

“I think the same holds true for a woman."

“Stop it, both of you.” You glanced up at Thorin. “Would you bring me the broth heating over the fire?”

“Of course.”

“No…” ‘Adad whispered, shaking his head once more. “I… I am not… hungry.”

“You need to eat. You’ve touched nothing since this morning.”

Thorin gave your shoulders another squeeze, bent to press a kiss into the top of your head, and said, “I’ll be right back with it. She’s right. You need to eat.”

’Adad stare at him, and you waited for him to argue. But then, with a soft sigh, he nodded. “Very well.”

The coughing began again as Thorin left the room and you held the rag to ’Adad’s lips until he went quiet once more. Then, he drew in another rattling breath. “Help me… to… to bed.”

“Of course.”

You took his hand in yours and leaned to slip his skeletal arm about your neck, then caught him to tug up from his chair. Once upon a time, the muscles in your back would have screamed in protest, as your father was like your husband-to-be—a bear of a man. But now, he was almost as light as a child, and felt as if his bones had become brittle glass and his skin fine vellum. 

Moving him was easy, and with a raspy sigh, he sank into the mountain of pillows you’d brought him. Sunken dark eyes met yours as he said, “You have a… a good man… in him.”

“I know I do.”

“He will provide well for you.”

“And I for him.”

’Adad nodded. “You’ve done well, raklûna. Never doubt… my pride in… in you…”

You pressed your lips together. Did you dare tell him you and Thorin were going to make him a sigin’adad? Would he still be so proud of you if he knew you shared Thorin’s bed on a regular occurrence since you’d become a couple? You and Thorin knew, but had told no one else, of course, as you’d wait until after your wedding to share your news. 

“’Adad,” you whispered, holding his thin hand between yours, “there is something I need tell you and I hope it brings you joy and not shame in me.”

A faint smile lifted his lips. “You could never make me feel shame.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I’m with child, ’Adad.”

His eyes briefly widened and to your relief, so did his smile. “My uzbadnâtha will have a raklûna of her own. This is wonderful news.”

Your eyes stung as you nodded. “I am so glad you think so.”

“Wonderful news, indeed…” He let out a soft sigh, and went still.

For a moment, you felt him there, his essence lingered in the quiet stillness that suddenly dropped over the room. And then, like a flame blown out, that essence dissipated. He was gone. 

You bowed your head, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss its back, and then held it to your cheek as your eyes overflowed. You made no sound, even as your tears dripped from your chin to speckle the blanket below. 

“Mimûna?” Thorin set the bowl on the bedside table, looked at your father, then at you, and without another word, sank beside you and drew you into his arms. “I’m sorry, amrâlimê,” he whispered into your hair. 

You didn't say anything, but just accepted his comfort, tucking your head against him as you closed your eyes and tried not to notice just how quiet the house had become. 

Chapter Text

“Now you hung with me when all the others turned away, turned up their nose. We liked the same music, we liked the same bands, we liked the same clothes.”

~ Bobby Jean, Bruce Springsteen, Born in the USA, Columbia Records, 1984

Guy was late. Face off was at eight-fifteen and it was now nearly quarter to nine and the first intermission had just begun. You tried not to get too annoyed, but at the same time, it seemed more and more, he was pulling away from you. And not only did you hate it, you missed him. Missed the stupid things, like watching hockey games together. You knew you were being overly sensitive and childish, but since when were emotions rational creatures anyway? Besides, you should be happy for him, happy that he was actually happy. He deserved a little happiness, right?

But happy was not the word you’d use. Because if you were totally honest with yourself, you’d admit the truth.

You were jealous of Heather.

When he’d first told you he’d met her, you were just that. Happy for him. But, little by little, that began to change. The more you thought about it, the more you came to the conclusion as to why you were jealous of her. And the more you tried to not think about that, the stronger those feelings became.

In the beginning, you didn’t care, or so you thought. And Heather didn’t seem to mind your presence in Guy’s life. After all, you and Guy were best friends and had been since you were fifteen years old, which was funny when you thought about how different the two of you were. You were the good girl, the cheerleader, the one involved with community service projects, who never cut a class or skipped school. You graduated third in your class, with honors because college was your ticket away from your house. 

He was the demon, the one always in trouble—nearly didn’t graduate at all because he liked the challenge of cutting any class he could without getting caught, like the challenge of stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down, again just for the challenge of it all. How funny was it that he was now in law enforcement? A lieutenant, no less. How did that happen?

The angel and the demon. Friends until the end. You’d met your sophomore year in high school, when you were paired up as lab partners in Biology. For all your outward differences, you had many striking similarities—same taste in music, same lousy home life, same desire to be anywhere but where you were. You’d lost count of how many hours you and Guy had spent just hanging out, listening to music, or hopping on his Harley to cruise down to the shore or to New Hope, just over the Pennsylvania border, or to upstate New York—anywhere that offered freedom. 

Girlfriends came. Boyfriends went. Guy was your one constant and you were his.

Until he’d met Heather. 

Now, you saw him sporadically and had actually been surprised when he’d texted you the night before to ask if you wanted to watch the second game of the Stanley Cup finals together. The New York Rangers versus the Colorado Avalanche. The series was tied at a game apiece in the best of seven series. So far, the game was also tied at one. You were both diehard Rangers’ fans and this was the first time in as long as you could remember that you’d watched the bulk of the playoffs from the first round on alone.

You missed watching hockey with him. You missed doing a lot of things with him. But mostly, you just missed him.

Your apartment buzzer went off a minute into the second period and you uncurled from your spot on the sofa and went over to push the intercom button. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I’m late, Angel. You still going to let me up?”

Angel. He called you that when he wanted to sweet talk you or suck up to you and had done so since the tenth grade, when he’d tried to wheedle his way out of having to do the dissections with you because he didn't want to admit he was squeamish. “Why should I?” you replied. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago. What happened? Heather wouldn’t let you come out?”

“Something like that. Can I come up? I’ll explain it when I get up there.”

You sighed and hit the button to unlock the vestibule doors and then moved to open your apartment door a crack. The security system was new at the Yewtree Apartments, installed after a woman on the second floor was attacked by someone who’d just walked on into the building without any trouble. Guy worked the case and it was one of the few times when he let you know exactly what the police knew, because he was worried about you.

Now, he came into your apartment and you felt the oddest flutter in your stomach at the sight of him. You’d finally acknowledged that your feelings for him ran much deeper than friendship, and had for a long time now. But you kept quiet, too terrified to say anything. You didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good friendship, even if you didn't see him all that often these days, so you kept those feelings to yourself. You would rather suffer in silence than lose him entirely. 

But now, as you looked at him, dressed in faded jeans and black henley beneath his black leather jacket, and his black full-face helmet in one hand, you found yourself jealous of Heather once more. Did she have any idea how lucky she was, to have him? Did she even appreciate what she had in him at all? Somehow, you didn't think so. Most people sold Guy short, didn’t take the time to get to know him. Women chased him for his striking good looks—shaggy black hair always a week past needing to be cut, the most beautiful blue eyes ever bestowed on a man, his deep, soothing baritone voice, and a physique that came from good genes and time well spent in the gym. But you didn't know how many took the time to actually get to know him.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, looking beyond tired, with shadows beneath those piercing blue eyes that were almost as dark as the days’ worth of beard along his cheeks and jawline. His dark hair poked up in all directions from when he’d taken off his motorcycle helmet and in all honesty, he looked like he could use a vacation. 

Setting the helmet on one of the stools at the breakfast bar just to the right of the door, he said. “I know I’m late and I’m sorry. I got held up at work and then Heather called and the next thing I know? It’s eight-thirty.”

He skirted the breakfast bar to go into your tiny kitchen and the refrigerator whooshed open. Bottles clinked. He returned holding two bottles of Shock Top Belgian White, and passed one to you. “What’s the score?”

“One-all.” You took the bottle. “You could’ve texted me, you know.”

He lifted the amber bottle to his lips for a long pull, nodding as he swallowed. Then, lowering the bottle, he said, “I could’ve and I’m an asshole for not doing it and I’m sorry.”

“Let me guess, Heather wanted you to go out to some poetry slam or something?”  

“Catty.” He grinned, shaking his head. “Not quite. But she didn't want me coming over here.”

You sighed. “I thought as much.”

“And to be honest,” he leaned against the breakfast bar, “I wasn’t too sure you’d care if I came over or not.”

“Why? Why would you think that?”

“Well, I know I’ve bailed on you a lot the last few weeks and—”

“Your girlfriend is insecure about my existence,” you broke in with a shrug, “I get it.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t really sure you’d miss me anyway, so—”

“We always watch hockey together. Or at least, we used to. Why wouldn’t I miss you?”

“Just a feeling.” He pushed away from the bar and strode across the small living room to sink into the sofa. He set the bottle down, then reached to pull his nine-millimeter and badge from his belt, which he set next to the beer bottle. With a low sigh, he sat back and put his booted feet up onto the table as well. 

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, just a feeling? Stop being so damn mysterious and just tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I mean just that.” He peered over his left shoulder at you. “I just… I feel like you just don’t care anymore if we don’t hang out.”

“That’s stupid. Why would I not care? I’m not the one who keeps cancelling on me, am I?” 

“Things come up.”

“Things. You know exactly what comes up and it’s more than things. We watch the playoffs every year, Guy.” You came around to the far side of the sofa, setting your bottle down next to his. “But this year? We’ve watched maybe two games and we’re in the finals. And why? Because your girlfriend can’t accept that you and I are just friends? It’s her hangup and you don’t say anything. So, if anyone seems not to care any more, it’s you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well you won’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“We broke up.”

You caught your jaw before it went slack and moved around to sink onto the coffee table between the bottles and his gun and shield. “What?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m late.” He leaned forward and snagged his bottle, then sat back to sip from it. “We had a fight about my coming over here and she basically told me she didn't want me hanging out with you anymore. She wants me to cut all ties with you.”

Your gut kinked. “What?”

“She’s not stupid, you know.”

“We’re just friends, Guy. Didn’t you tell her that?”

“Yeah, I did and she called bullshit on me.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drained in one long swallow, then said, “She sensed it, Angel.”

“Sensed it? What it? There is no it.” You stood then, and did what you always did when you felt like a bundle of raw nerves. You paced. Back and forth, you crossed in front of the television. “We both like hockey, so what’s the big deal? I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret.”

He shook his head. “No. Not hockey. It has nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with where I am at the moment.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure that makes sense to you, but I’m lost.”

He lowered the bottle, gesturing to you with it. “She thinks I’d rather be here with you instead of there with her.” His broad shoulders rose in a lazy shrug. “And she’s right. I would.”

“We’re just friends, Guy.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” 

You just stared at him. The Rangers chose that moment to score and you stopped your pacing while you both looked from one another to the television to watch the replay. All the while you stared at the screen, your mind whirled with what he was trying to tell you. When the game resumed, you remained still and glanced over at him. “So, she doesn’t want you to have any women friends?”

“She doesn’t want me having you as a friend.”

“Why?”

He picked up the remote and hit the mute button, then set it back on the coffee table’s glass inset. “Because she knows I’ve got a crush on you. And she’s right. I do.”

Your mouth went dry and all you could do was stare at him. It was the very last thing you ever expected to pass his lips and when you finally found your voice, it was the faintest and thinnest of whispers. “You what?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said and then she laid out the entire accusation, complete with evidence.”

“Evidence?”

He stood up and came around to hold out his phone. “Scroll through and see for yourself. You’re the last person I text every night and the first one I text every morning. I talk to you about everything. You’re the first one I want to call when I’ve got good news and the first person I want to see when I’ve had a shitty day. We can be perfectly happy just sitting here, watching a fucking hockey game and not say two words to each other. And then there are times I tell you things that I’ve never told another living soul. You are the best friend I’ve ever had and at times, the only friend I had. And I don’t want to give that up, but at the same time, it’s not enough anymore, either.”

“Not enough anymore?” You looked up at him. He towered over you. “So? That doesn’t mean—”

He shoved the phone in his jeans pocket and bent toward you then. When his lips crashed into yours, when his hands came to rest on your hips, you leaned into him and returned his kiss wholeheartedly. His lips were soft. Warm. Teasing. And he kissed just as you’d lately begun imagining he would. 

Soft. 

Warm. 

Teasing. 

His fingers tightened on your hips. His lips parted. His tongue touched yours. 

You melted against him.

His hands slid over your hips, around to the small of your back as he folded you into his arms. He bent you back ever so slightly, his tongue tangling with yours, and when he slowly drew away, he whispered, “She’s right.”

“Guy,” your voice refused to rise above a whisper, “what are you doing?”

“I just fucked everything up between us, didn't I?”

You shook your head. “No. No—no, you didn’t.” You waited for your head to clear and smiled up at him. “Guy… why didn't you say anything sooner?”

“Why didn’t you?”

You reached up to thread your fingers thorough the dark hair above his right ear. “I thought you and Heather were happy…” You held his gaze, smiling as his eyes softened. “And I wasn't going to ruin that for you. And truthfully, I was scared about saying anything. If you didn’t feel the same, things would have gotten weird between us.” 

“So, you thought you’d just disappear on me?”

“I didn’t disappear on you. You disappeared on me. Although, I thought you might want me to and I know your girlfriend did.”

“She’s not my girlfriend any more.” He shook his head. “And I don’t want you disappearing, Angel. Not ever. Not since the tenth fucking grade.”

“Are you serious?”

“I asked you to prom, didn't I? Twice?”

“Well, yeah, but we were friends and had no one else to go with.”

He offered up a slow grin. “I told Tony Ianucci if he asked you, I’d kill him.”

You stared at him. “I spent my entire senior year lusting over him, Guy. And you told him that? For real?”

“Yeah. He was bragging about what he planned to do with you at Dane’s shore house and I heard about it. That’s when I suggested he’d stay healthier if he asked someone else.”

“So… you did it to protect me?”

He nodded, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “I’ve always protected you. And now I want to do more than that.”

“How much more?”

Your blood heated at the devilish glint that came into his eyes. “Let’s start with this,” he murmured, leaning into brush your lips with a light, teasing kiss. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Guy,” you managed to whisper even as his kiss left you a bit lightheaded. “I might need just a bit more convincing.”

A low laugh rolled toward you and this time, when he kissed you, you felt it all the way through to the center of your being. 

“What about now?” he murmured when you parted, one eyebrow cocking ever so slightly. 

You smiled. “What do you think?”

His smile held more than a whisper of promise and he drew you into his arms once more, whispering, “I think I love you,” just as his lips came down onto yours. 

Chapter Text

“I can’t do this.”

Lucas gave your hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to if you really don’t want to. I won’t hold it against you.”

You looked over at him. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. A little corny maybe, but matching tattoos seemed harmless enough when you and Lucas discussed it over a bottle of wine. It had even seemed like a good idea when you discussed it stone sober the next morning. But now? Now, you weren’t so sure. 

Your stomach knotted when you first set foot inside the studio. It was brightly lit, with teal colored walls adorned with all sorts of flash and pictures of clients with their new ink and heavy metal music played over the shop sound system. It wasn’t too loud, but loud enough to let you know you were totally out of your element. 

But Lou was friendly and put you at ease and as you waited for Lucas to go first, you thought I can do this. 

Well, Lucas was done now, the labyrinth on his inner left biceps now covered with an antibiotic film that looked like plastic wrap pressed tight over it. Some of the ink had already bled out, giving the image a distorted quality that belied the delicate linework of the piece.

It was your turn now and your ease evaporated and bit of apprehension sank it. The tattoo studio was clean enough, with a heavy sterile tang of Lysol hanging in the air, and all around you, tattoo guns whizzed and artists and clients chatted away, laughing over this and that, and loud enough that the artists all chimed in with whatever was being discussed without hesitation. Slipknot was playing on the studio’s sound system and Lou was waiting patiently for you to settle into his chair.

“I’m really sorry,” you said to him with a wince.

He winked, his blue eyes friendly as he shook his head and said, “Take all the time you need. It’s your first one and everyone’s a little scared with the first one. Hell, I get guys coming in here for their fiftieth who are nervous as fuck before they sit down. You’ll be fine.”

You stared at the black leather chair, and slowly sank into it. “Why did I agree to this?”

Lucas leaned over and brushed your ear with his lips. “You might have been drunk at the time.”

“And you’re holding me to it?”

“Didn’t I already tell you that you didn't have to go through with it if you really didn’t want to?”

You sighed. Tattoos were no big deal for Lucas. He had at least fifteen, so what was one more to him? But for you? This was your first and as you eased off your blue chambray work shirt to hold out your right arm, you said, “Let’d just do this, okay?”

Lou smiled. “If you’re sure.”

You nodded. “I am.”

Lucas sank onto the stool on your left hand side and slipped his hand beneath yours. His blue eyes softened as he met your gaze and said, “You’ve got this.”

“I hope so.”

Lou set the stencil on your arm, peeled the backing off, and said, “That look right?”

You peered down at the intricate maze of lines and nodded. “It’s fine, yeah.”

“Okay. Here we go.” He picked up the gun, dipped the needle into the small cup of black ink, and then went to work. You tensed as the needle touched you, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would. It felt like a scratch, really. 

At least, it did at first. Then the sting set in. You gritted your teeth, your hand tensing about Lucas’. You bit the inside of your cheek, let your eyes close, as Lou did the outline, then the subtle shading. Little by little, the sting worsened, your arm trembled, the muscle twitching of its own. You fought to ignore it even as you wished Lou would just finish already. 

“How are you holding up, love?” Lucas asked, his voice soft. 

“I am never doing this again,” you told him.

“You’re doing great,” Lou told you, pulling the gun away to carefully wipe away the excess ink. “You need a break? I’m about halfway done.”

Only halfway? You inwardly sighed even as you shook your head. “I’m good. Let’s just keep going.”

Lou smiled. “You got it. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

You nodded and looked over at Lucas, “We are definitely going out for a drink when I’m done.”

“Anywhere you want.” He winked. “You’ve earned it.”

Somehow, you managed to sit perfectly still as Lou finished up, but when the gun when quiet and he said, “Finis,” you exhaled with a nightly rush and went limp in the chair.

“Thank God!” you breathed, much to the amusement of both men. Then, you looked over at the design and for a moment, were rendered absolutely speechless. It was amazing, the line work perfect, and you didn’t expect your throat to tighten the way it did. He’d done a truly beautiful job.

You and Lucas had chosen the labyrinth because it symbolized the journey you’d taken to find one another. You’d been together years earlier, had broken up, and were only reunited on an assignment in New York a few months ago, and since then, everything had been going wonderful. But in the time it took you to find your way back to one another, you’d both gotten so very lost and in finding each other again, you each found exactly what was missing from your lives.

Lou rinsed the tattoo off, and then wrapped it in the same antibiotic plastic and Lucas smiled as he leaned over and pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “You ready to go? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You eased from the chair, drew the work shirt back over your dark blue tank top, thanked Lou and went up front to pay. As you and Lucas stepped out onto Division Street and into the sticky warmth of a July evening, you said, “I’m not so sure I can handle any surprises right now. I kind of just want that drink.”

“We’ll go get that drink in just a few minutes, promise. Trust me, love. You’ll like this. It’s good surprise.”

“If you say so.” You weren’t a big fan of surprises over all, as they had seldom been good for you, but still, you linked your fingers with his and let him steer you toward the fountain at the far end of the road. Foot traffic was the only kind permitted on Division Street, and the area was still crowded with people from old couples to little kids, from skateboarders to street musicians. Despite the humidity that crept higher as the day went on, it was still pleasant and as you reached the fountain, Lucas stepped up in front of you and caught you around the waist to draw you in for a teasing kiss. 

“You hungry? I thought we could grab dinner at Ricky’s.”

“That’s your big surprise?” you asked with a smile.

“No. This is.”

You could only stare as he sank to one knee, right there, in front of the old couples and little kids, the skateboarders and the street musicians, and smiled up at you. “It’s taken us a lifetime to get here,” he said, tugging a small black box from his jeans pocket. He opened it, held it up, and his voice grew soft as he said, “and now that we are here, this is where I want to stay. With you. Will you marry me?”

You stared down at the ring on its bed of white velvet. It was simple and gorgeous—a solitaire diamond in a platinum setting. He knew you, knew your tastes, and it was absolutely the most perfect ring you’d ever seen.

“Lucas,” you couldn’t get your voice above a whisper, “are you serious?”

He offered up a devilish grin. “Do you think I do this on a whim, love?” He stood, lifting the ring from the velvet. “Try it on.”

He eased it onto your finger. It fit. Of course it did. He paid attention to the smallest of details so it didn't surprise you how he guessed your ring size. The stone sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight and you realized the people closest to you all stared at you and Lucas now, awaiting your answer.

“No pressure,” Lucas said softly, holding your hand by the fingertips.

“Say it again?”

His eyes danced and his smile was unlike any you’d ever seen before as he winked and said, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you said, smiling as you closed the gap between you and him. You slid your arms about his neck, let your fingers slip up into his spiky black hair, and tugged him down to meet your lips as everyone around you let out a singular breath and burst into applause for you. 

Chapter Text

Wind howled through the valley all around you, but you paid no heed to it. Leaves scuttled across the hard-packed earth upon which you stood, but you heard nothing. Dappled sunlight wove through the trees just coming to life after the long, brutal winter. 

You were numb as you stared at the fresh scar in the earth. All around you was rebirth, but right before you was death. You tried to ignore the sounds of dirt hitting the simple coffin in which your father lay as the dwarves who’d acted as his pallbearers now filled in his grave. 

“Come, mimûna,” Thorin murmured, draping his cloak about your shoulders, “before you catch your death.”

“No. I wish to stay right here,” you told him without looking at him. You couldn't tear your eyes from the grave as it was filled. If you left, it would be real. Your house would be empty, the only voice yours, the only sounds the ones you made. You would never again hear ’Adad call for you. Would never hear him rasp, “Raklûna,” whether in annoyance or in thanks or because he was feeling sentimental. You would never adjust to the fact that you were now, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. Your mother had walked out years ago, leaving ’Adad with a baby girl to raise alone and even if she showed up tomorrow, you would rather spit in her face than speak to her. 

“Think of the little one,” he murmured, his voice barely audible for you had not yet shared your secret with everyone in Ered Luin. Only ’Adad knew you were with child. Not even Thorin’s sister knew and they were as close as brothers and sisters could be.

You looked up at him, his blue eyes were soft, flooded with concern, and you knew he worried, so you nodded and only then, let him lead you away from the small, shade-splashed cemetery at the end of Stone Street. ’Adad would forever sleep beneath an oak tree that would provide him with all of the shade and cool comfort he’d been denied in his life as a baker surrounded by fire and ovens. 

Everyone came back to the house with you, but they couldn’t stay for long and when night fell, and you and Thorin were alone, you looked up at him again. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather not leave you alone, mimûna,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve been through a terrible day.”

“I need the time, Thorin. In fact, I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should postpone the wedding.”

“What?”

You nodded slowly. “I think we should. I need a bit of space, some time to adjust. And I—I think it would be best if we didn't see one another for a while.”

“Mimûna?”

Tears stung your eyes. You loved Thorin more than anyone or anything in the world, in some ways even more than you loved ’Adad, and it killed you to tell him to go away. But, you felt it was terribly disrespectful to plan a wedding when you were still so freshly mourning your loss. It felt disrespectful to ’Adad’s memory to plan a celebration he would now not get to see.

“It’s best. Please. Just leave me alone.”

Pain flashed through those cerulean eyes, but he nodded and stepped up to press a kiss into your head. “Take all the time you need, mesmel,” he murmured, “We have all the time in the world and I will wait.”

Tears stung your eyes, so you let them close as you nodded. He kissed your forehead then, and you heard his boots as he thudded across the great room toward the door. They paused and he said, “Maralmizi.”

Your throat tightened at his soft admission of love and you nodded once again, whispering, “Maralmizu, Thorin.”

Then he was gone and you were completely alone.

You sank to the floor in a heap of crumpled linen and black bombazine, and dissolved into tears. 

***

“You should go and see her.”

Thorin shook his head without turning away from the window. He didn't need to look at Dís to know how she looked at him. She would be frowning, a deep groove forming between her thick dark eyebrows. Her eyes, the same shade of blue as his, would be narrow and her lips would be pursed, her forefinger tapping at them as she tried to think of some way to get her older brother to come see you.

“She does not wish to see me, Dís,” he said, shaking his head, his hands clasped behind his back. Day after day, he stood up at in the room at the top of the modest house he shared with her and his two young nephews. From there, he could see the cozy house in the valley, tucked amongst the trees and from time to time, he saw you when you emerged on rare occasions. 

Two weeks had passed since the funeral. Two weeks of waiting and wondering and hoping all was well with you. He’d ride past your cottage whenever possible, down to the river in the hopes of seeing you. But you remained sequestered in behind the door, going through your father’s things, sorting out which memories to keep and which to put out with the rubbish. You went out only when absolutely necessary. 

“She is hurting,” Dís replied softly, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Remember how it was in the days after we lost ’Amad. We were all three of us lost. Remember in the days after Vili and Frerin were taken?”

“I do remember,” he replied slowly, his eyes closing as the familiar sense of loss swirled through him. “And I remember how I did not wish to be disturbed. I want the world to just leave me be.”

“Ah, but you had me. She has no one. Don’t be a fool. Go and check on her. Thorin. You love her, don’t you?”

Without taking his eyes from the cottage in the distance, he nodded slowly. “With everything I am.”

“Then go to her and let her know you are not abandoning her. She needs you now, even if she doesn’t realize it herself.”

Did you need him? He wasn’t at all certain, as you were one of the most independent women he’d ever met. But, even the strongest of shoulders needed rest, needed to be held and reassured at times. 

And he missed you. 

He missed the way you felt in his arms, the scent of your hair, your skin, the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy. He missed the little things, such as a stroll along the river, where you spoke of the future together and what you hoped for the child you carried, of the future children you planned to have together. 

He rubbed his beard slowly, debating whether or not to tell Dís the secret you and he shared. Then, glancing over at her, he said, “She’s expecting a child, Dís.”

Dís’ eyes widened, them quickly returned to their normal size and shape. A hint of a smile played at her lips. “Your child, I assume?”

“My child.”

The door swung open then and a little dark-haired cannonball of a boy raced in. “‘Amad! Fíli  hit me with a rock!”

On his heels came his brother, hollering, “He was supposed to catch it!”

Dís scooped up her youngest son. “Let me see, Kíli,” she said, brushing his hair away from his face. “Oh, it’s but a tiny bruise. And Fíli, do not throw rocks at your brother and I don’t care if he was supposed to catch it.”

Fíli sighed. “Yes, ’Amad.”

She set Kíli down and both boys took off like a shot, screaming all the way down the corridor. Thorin smiled. “I’ll wager Fíli is hit with a rock next.”

“Most likely. But, you will not worry about it. You are going to go and look in on a certain someone, aren’t you?”

Thorin sighed. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He nodded. “I know. But if space is what she needs…”

“Thorin, space can and does quickly become isolation. You will never forgive yourself if you let this relationship end. Especially if there’s a child on the way. Your heir, Thorin.”

“I know. And I never said she and I were broken up, Dís. She’s asked me to leave her be for now.”

“Now is when she needs you the most.” Dís held up both hands. “And I know you know that, so go.”

You heard the familiar gait of hoofbeats and your heart sped up while your mouth went dry. You hadn’t seen Thorin since the morning of ’Adad’s funeral. He’d respected your wishes to be left alone, and you found yourself missing him so very much. Time had a way of slowing to a crawl now that you were alone and you hated the silence so much, you’d taken to talking to yourself. Every time a horse clopped by the cottage, you hurried to the window in the hopes that it was Thorin because you missed him so. You thought about going to him, but knew how you’d hurt him, and the thought of his slamming a door in your face was too horrifying to contemplate. 

Day after day, you cleaned out ’Adad’s room, the cottage itself, anything to keep busy and to take your mind off the fact your stomach roiled from sunup to sundown. The baby, no doubt, although you hesitated to seek out Narnerra. If you and Thorin were over, you weren’t at all certain what would happen once the baby was born. Heir to the throne of Durin, your son would most likely be taken from you to be raised by Thorin and his sister. And that would break your heart into more fragments.

The white cotton curtains fluttered on the breeze and you moved to peer out the window as Thorin strode purposefully up the flagstone walk. Your heart leaped into your throat, your hands went clammy, and you thought for a moment you just might faint as he knocked at the door.

Wiping your palms on your simple cotton housedress, you crossed to the door and opened it, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of your handsome dwarf across the threshold. 

“Thorin…”

“I know you’ve asked me to leave you be, mimûna, but I cannot ignore my concern for you. If you wish me to go away, know that I cannot do than any longer. I’m worried for you. For you and for our child, and I will do anything else you ask of me, but I will not leave you alone here another moment.”

You stared up at him, pressing your lips together as your heart hammered your ribs with such force, you were momentarily dizzy. In the first few days after the funeral, people showed up at your door with food and wine to make things easier, but now, they’d stopped coming around. When you went into the village, into the marketplace, people stared and whispered about you, but seemed almost afraid to come up to you, as if somehow they would be tainted or touched by death because of your loss. 

He took your silence as an invitation to come into the cottage, stepping by you into the great room, and closed the door behind him. “I love you,” he said, his voice a low growl, “and I want to be here for you. Lean on me, mimûna, cry on my shoulder if you need to, but don’t push me away again.”

Your eyes stung at those words, at the rumbling reassurance that he was not going to leave you again. You drew in a deep breath and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

“Why didn't you send for me?”

“I… I don’t know… you were angry when you left, hurt, I thought. I thought you might not want to hear from me.”

Two steps and he’d closed the space between you, gathering you in his arms to lift you easily to meet his eyes. “You little fool,” he growled, although his eyes were soft and tender, “I haven’t slept more than an hour a night with worrying about you. About you. About the baby. Come back to stay with Dís and me, mimûna. Say you’ll marry me again and let’s celebrate as your father would have wanted us to celebrate, for he was thrilled at the prospect of our wedding.”

“His son in law would be the future king, should Erebor be reclaimed,” you told him, fighting to keep from smiling and losing in short order, “he would have to be mad to not be thrilled.”

“He liked me.”

“Again, future king.”

He chuckled. “You are bullheaded at times, know you this?”

“You just left, remember.”

“I was but honoring your wishes.” He tightened his hold on you, moving to the sofa, where he carefully sank into it, cradling you against him. “And if you wish me to go, you need only say so again.”

You leaned back to catch his face in your hands, his beard soft and scratchy against your palms. “I’ve missed you terribly, Thorin.”

“And I you. I’ve found I don’t care to sleep alone any longer. I sleep much better when I’ve your head on my chest and your warm body against mine.”

A pleasant heat swirled through you at his confession. One that had you dipping your head as you murmured, “I find the same, actually.”

Thorin’s fingers kneaded your backside gently. “Does this mean you might still wish to marry me? I’ve not cancelled anything yet, you know.”

You lifted your head at that, staring at him. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I was foolishly optimistic that you would come around. So, will you still marry me, amrâlimê?”

“Do you still wish to have me?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” His lips found yours, his kiss slow and teasing and wonderful. It had you curling your toes as your blood warmed and when your lips parted and his tongue touched yours, unexpected tears came to your eyes. You’d missed him so very much, were so convinced it was over between you. You missed him, you worried what would happen when you could no longer hide your condition, and now? Now you melted against him, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the warmth of his neck. 

“Thorin… I thought it was over,” you managed to whisper, his hair muffling your words a tad.

“No, mesmel,” he whispered back, stroking your hair with one hand and your back with the other. “It isn’t. It takes far more than this to rid yourself of me. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

You pulled away to gaze up at him. “I do love you, you know.”

“And I love you, mimûna. Now, let me help you finish what needs be done here, then you are coming back home with me. Where you belong.”

***

“Mimûna?”

“Come in.” You smiled up at Thorin as he came into the room. You’d labored a day and a night, and into the next morning and now held your daughter in your arms, smiling up at him as he came closer. “Come and see your handiwork, dwarf.”

His smile stretched from ear to ear as he gingerly sank onto the edge of your bed and gazed at the blanketed bundle in your arms with all of the wonder and awe one could muster. “She looks like you.”

“No. Just as Frerin, she looks like her ’adad.”

“I see it with neither of them.”

The door opened once more and Narnerra said, “Go on, mimûn. ’Adad and ’Amad are right here and you can meet your sister.”

Frerin II Durin was his father in miniature, with long black curls and the beginnings of a black beard and mustache and he approached your bed cautiously. “’Amad? Is that the baby?”

“Come up and say welcome to your sister, raklûn,” you told him, patting the bed.

Thorin bent to lift your three year old son from the floor, balancing him on his knee, one arm firmly about Frerin’s waist. “So, what do you think?”

Frerin’s blue eyes went wider still. “She’s so small.”

“She is,” Thorin nodded, looking over Frerin’s head to wink at you, “but you were as well, dashat. But fear not, she will grow and soon will be driving you mad just as your irak-‘amad drove me mad when we were children.”

“Really? When?”

“Well, not for a few years, but it will go by fast. I promise you.” Thorin ruffled his hair, then leaned over and pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “It will go by so very fast, indeed. It seems it was only yesterday ’Amad and I were meeting you for the first time, raklûn.”

“Wait…” Frerin stared up at his father with such wide-eyed astonishment that you had to fight back a smile, “I was this small once?”

“You were smaller, Frerin,” you told him. “’Adad used to rock you to sleep on his forearm, your head in his hand, just as my ’Adad did for me.”

Frerin’s eyes went wider still, his, “You did?” ringing with astonishment

Thorin nodded. “Every night, yes. You’d fuss otherwise.”

“Oh…” He stared down at his sister and then looked over at you. “Will she fuss, too?”

“Probably, at first. But we will all adjust quickly. I hope.”

“We will be fine,” Thorin pressed another kiss into the top of your head. “You and I work well as a team, mimûna, and we have since you first knocked me into the dirt.”

“I should’ve done it much sooner,” you told him.

“Yes,” he nodded, squeezing you gently against his side. “You should have, indeed. Who knows how many more little ones we’d have running about with Fíli and Kíli.”

You sighed softly as you gazed first at your newborn daughter, then your son, and finally at the man sitting beside you. You came so close to not making it this far, but Thorin was nothing if not determined and he loved you enough to see you through the worst days of your life. There was no one else with whom you’d rather be as you celebrated the best days, either. From adversaries, to lovers, to a family, you were where you belonged and as you looked up at Thorin, his eyes softened. 

He understood. 

Chapter Text

You never thought you’d have a sword in your bedroom. Or chainmail. Or any other sort of armor. But, there they were—the sword was propped by the dresser, the chainmail dumped in the chair (please don’t let it leave marks on the upholstery, as you’d asked Raymond a thousand times to not leave it there. Maybe someday he’d listen), the armor? Well, that was scattered throughout your apartment now. It was tough to explain to your parents when they came over for dinner and to meet the man you lived with why there was a shield over by the television set, leaning against the entertainment center. You told them Raymond was a RenFaire actor and so far, so good. They believed you. 

If you told them the truth, they’d think you’d lost your fool mind. And you really couldn’t blame them. How did you explain to rational people that a knight from the thirteenth century found his way into the twenty-first century? You had a hard enough time convincing Raymond of his journey through time but convincing your parents? Never going to happen. They would never get it. And again, who could blame them?

 You weren’t sure yourself how it happened. All you knew was you were at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, looking at the special display of thirteenth century armor on loan for the summer from the Louvre when the city was hit with a blackout. It lasted only minutes, but when the lights came on, the knight you’d been studying so intently?

He blinked. 

And scared the living shit out of you. 

He’d stepped down from the low pedestal, sword drawn, glaring at you as he asked you something in French. You spoke almost no French at the time, but stared down at the point of the sword only inches from your throat and replied with the only phrase you could ever remember from seventh grade French class:

“Puis-je alle à la salle de bain, si’l vous plait?”

Can I go to the bathroom, please? You’d have facepalmed if you weren’t so scared. 

His eyes went narrow as he said, “Quoi?”

Thankfully, he spoke some English, and things didn't go downhill from there. Just the opposite really. He was truly a lost soul and once you got over being terrified of him, you felt overwhelming sympathy for him and so offered him a place to stay. It was supposed to be temporary, until you figured out a way to send him back to his time. 

Unfortunately, neither one of you could figure out just how to do that, and so you both accepted the reality. He wasn't going anywhere. At first, you weren’t exactly sure how you felt about having an unexpected roommate.

But now? Now it was a little different story. 

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

Raymond’s deep voice floated over your shoulder from behind you, his arm draped about your waist heavy with muscle, his fingers relaxed as they brushed your stomach. You smiled as those fingers pressed against you, as he tugged you closer to his chest. He did this every night if you ventured too far for his liking. His arm tightened about you and he pulled you flush against him. You had to admit, it certainly wasn’t the worst way to sleep.

“Nothing,” you murmured, your eyes closing at the soft sweep of his lips along the side of your neck.

“Last night went well, I think.” His lips now brushed your ear. “Your parents like me.”

“I thought you didn't care if anyone liked you?”

“I care if they do. For your sake.The rest of this city peut aller en enfer.”

“And that is?”

“They can go to hell. As long as your parents like me, I’m happy.”

“Good. Because I’m pretty sure they like you.”

You carefully turned in his arms. His blue eyes were no longer so cold as they’d been when he first stepped into your time three months earlier. Then, he’d actually tried to run you through because he thought you were a witch. Fortunately, you managed to convince him that even if you were one, which you weren’t, no one executed witches in your time. 

Not that his adjustment had been an easy one. Far from it, actually. Your modern world confused him and he didn’t do confusion real well. He grew sullen and angry and for a while, and you were pretty sure you’d eventually end up having to bail him out of jail at least once at some point. Thankfully, it had yet to happen, but you didn't rule it out in the future, either. It took the better part of two weeks to convince him he didn't need to carry a sword everywhere and almost as long to convince him armor was just as unnecessary, deodorant was a good thing, and yes, he really should brush his teeth twice a day. You still patted him down before you left the apartment together. Just in case.

Your romance began by accident. He looked really good in jeans and a tee shirt and you really couldn't help yourself one afternoon as you were trying to teach him how to use the camera on your cell phone. He’d taken something like fifteen selfies and not a one that captured his entire face. You took the phone from him, showed him how far to hold it away, and as you took the shot, you meant to press your cheek to his, only to have him turn toward you at the last minute and kiss you fully on the lips. It stunned you at first, but then… oh… your knight knew how to kiss. His lips were soft. His tongue teasing. And when you finally pulled away, he actually smiled. Smiled and winked and showed you he did, in fact, know how to take a selfish. Jerk. Nuzzling you, he confessed he’d faked not knowing how purposely, with the sole intention of luring you in for that damn kiss. Stinker. 

The first time you slept together came about when, after several glasses of wine, you’d asked him about the scars he bore—a j-shaped one on his right cheek and the ragged looking one on the same side of his neck. He refused to tell you how he’d gotten either one, but instead began showing you the other scars his body bore. Most were on his torso, but then he stood and tugged down his jeans to show you one on his thigh. At this point, you’d matched him, scar for scar, although yours were not nearly as interesting as his. Still, between the wine and lack of clothing, it was only a matter of minutes before your underwear landed atop the heap of discarded jeans and tee shirts and socks and shoes, and you and Raymond were going at it like a couple of horny teenagers right there on the living room floor.

And now there you were. In the arms of a thirteenth-century man you were slowly converting to a twenty-first century man. 

Of course, that didn’t mean the thirteenth-century ideals men had about women didn’t surface from time to time. When they did, you reminded yourself that killing him would be wrong and you wouldn’t be able to hide his body, anyway, and he did make up for it when you called him out on it. Besides, to be fair, he’d come a long way, so his occasional lapses were forgivable, especially as they came fewer and farther between.

Besides, moments such as these made up for his somewhat chauvinistic views, moments when he eased himself over you and bent to just nibble your lips teasingly. Or when he did this, but then leaned closer and nuzzled you, whispering endearments in French as he did. Half the time, you had to have him translate, as you were only just now learning his language, and you weren’t always certain he told you the truth about what he said, especially when he was annoyed at you and muttered under his breath to express said annoyance.

“Raymond…” His name floated to your lips as he swept a kiss along the side of your neck, his dark hair tickling your cheek as he moved.

“What?”

“We do need to get up. I have things to do.”

“As do I.” Another sweep of his soft lips along your skin, his beard prickly around them. “And you, ma chêrie, are the most important of them.”

You smiled. He was picking up your lingo much faster than you were his language, and you let your protests slide by the wayside as you eased your arms about his waist to trail your fingernails along his broad, smooth back. “Is that so?”

“Most definitely.”

“So, you’re happy here?” You shifted slightly to meet his gaze. 

“Do I look unhappy?”

“Well, not at the moment, no. But this world is so different from what you know, Raymond. Do you regret coming forward and not being able to go back? Do you regret being with me?”

His eyes, once so hard and cold, were now soft and tender as he shook his head. “Of course not. I love you. I love you and I am more than happy being here.”

You could only stare up at him. This was the first time he spoke of his feelings toward you, and hearing him say he loved you, in that deep, soothing voice of his, warmed you to the center of your being. 

“You—you love me?”

“I’d not say it if I didn’t.” 

“You look surprised,” he murmured, dipping to brush your lips with his once more. “Why?”

“I… I guess because I never thought something like this would happen to me.”

“Nor I to me, but here we are and here I will stay.” He kissed you once more, then with a smile, added, “Besides, you have pizza. And I’ve found I do enjoy pizza.” 

“Pizza. You want to stay here because of pizza.”

He offered up a wicked smile and wiggled his eyebrows. “And the Pill. A glorious thing, that.”

“You’re terrible, you know that?”

“Am I, though?” He carefully lowered himself completely against you. 

“No,” you whispered, losing yourself in his beautiful eyes, “I don’t suppose you are. And you know, I love you, too, right?”

“Good answer, love,” he murmured just before his lips claimed yours and you lost yourself in the magic of his kiss.

Chapter Text

You didn't really know what happened. One minute, you were at the intersection of Main and Percival Streets, on your way to open the shop and the next? You heard the crunch of smashing fiberglass and shattered glass, saw the inside of an ambulance, and that was all you could remember.

Now, you were in the hospital and at first, everything hurt. But now? Now you floated on a soft cloud in a gentle haze of whatever painkillers they’d given you. Pins had been put into your ankle and something had been mentioned about physical therapy once you had time to heal, but you really only recalled bits and pieces of it. 

“Sweetheart?”

You struggled to open your eyes. An uphill battle at best because you were just so very tired. It took several attempts before you won and you offered up what was probably the sleepiest of smiles as your eyes finally focused on John’s face, above you. His dark hair was windblown, his blue eyes filled with concern while his hand moved gently over your hair, his thumb brushing your forehead.

 “What happened?” His deep voice was soft, almost a whisper to match the gentle strokes against your forehead. 

You slowly shook your head, letting your eyes close since the fluorescent hospital lights hurt them. “I—I’m not sure. I was on my way to the shop. And someone came out of nowhere and hit me…They must’ve… must’ve run the light because I know my side was green.”

His thumb went still. “Did you see who?”

You licked your lips. Despite the IV giving you fluids, your lips felt dry. “It happened so fast. I never saw who… but it was a black… a black SUV.”

“It’ll be on the police report.” Warm lips brushed your forehead. “I spoke to the doctor. She said you’re going to be fine in time, but I think you’re going to have to let Kerry run things while you recuperate.”

You managed another smile. “I think she will do just fine. She did when we were in Hawaii.”  You forced your eyes open again. “I’m supposed to pick up Ben and Sam and—”

“I already talked to Eli,” he assured you, his thumb moving lightly along your forehead again. “He’ll pick his brothers up and then head into work. His boss understood when Eli told him you’d been in an accident.”

“Oh, thank God…” The boys were from John’s first marriage, and they lived with you. It had been rocky at first, but as your relationship with John grew more and more serious, they eventually warmed up to you. Even John’s ex-wife, Elizabeth was no longer as icy as she’d been in the earlier stages of your relationship. You would never be friends, but you’d developed a cordial enough relationship that if you’d called her and asked her to grab the two younger boys from middle school, she’ d have done so and not held it over your head.

“You just need to rest,” he told her, rising from his chair. He bent over and his lips were soft as they moved gently against yours. Then he pulled away, and murmured, “I’ll be back in a bit. I want to make sure the boys get home okay and they’ll probably want to come up and see you.”

“When can I come home?”

“Dr. Ehrings wants you to stay at least tonight, but she seemed pretty sure you could come home tomorrow.”

You nodded, even though the last thing you wanted was to stay in the hospital overnight. You hated hospitals. They were too quiet, too creepy at night, and they had that hospital smell that no one liked. Still, you were in no shape to argue, even if you wanted to. “Okay.”

“Get some rest, honey,” he murmured, his beard scraping against your chin as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be.”

He winked, then straightened up and with a soft sigh, you closed your eyes, asleep before he left the room.

In the hallway, John’s tranquil smile melted away. His hand clenched into a fist that he shoved into his trouser pocket. His heart had stopped two hours earlier when Anna poked her head into his office to tell him you’d been in an accident. He couldn’t get to his car fast enough and as he drove toward Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital, he got on the phone with a friend of his who was with the local police force. You were broadsided by woman driving a black Range Rover.

He’d paced the small surgical waiting room, waiting for news on you. All he knew was you had numerous cuts and bruises and you’d broken your ankle. None of your injuries were life-threatening, thanks to your car’s side curtain air bags and crumple zones. You were actually incredibly lucky, all things considered. Still, he was on the verge of madness when Dr. Ehrings finally came out to tell him you were out of surgery and would be moved to your room after you spent some time in recovery. 

Now, his hands almost shook with rage as he strode down the sterile corridor toward the elevator. He waited until he was outside, in the warm air of a late spring afternoon. The cherry blossoms had bloomed, as had the dogwoods and the lilacs planted along the Emergency Room’s outside perimeter were just budding to life. 

He dug out his phone and dialed, lifting it to his ear when a woman said, “I thought I’d be hearing from you. I need to see you, John. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Are you kidding me?” he growled, “I know exactly what you did and don’t you even think to give me some bullshit story. I know it was you. Black Range Rover. Did you think no one would figure it out? Do you think we’re all stupid?”

Abigail laughed. At one time, that sound would have tingled along his spine, but now? It made him see red. “You know what was me? Are you feeling all right John? You sound… upset…”

“Upset? Yeah, probably because I am. This was the last straw,” he told her shortly, striding toward the parking deck. His BMW was on the second level, but if he stepped into the shadows, he’d lose the signal. “You’ve gone too far, now, and I’m not playing this game with you. Leave us alone. Do you get that? I don’t want you.”

“Why do I think you don’t mean that, John?” Her voice held that coquettish coy note that he’d grown to hate. “How many times did you tell me to leave you alone before Beth caught us? And each time, you came crawling back to me, didn’t you? Each and every single time.”

“Not this time.” He switched the phone to his other ear. 

“Oh, really? Does your girlfriend know—”  

“Wife,” he broke in, unable to keep the tone of triumph from his voice at her stunned silence. “Yeah, you didn’t know that, did you?”

“Wait… your—your wife?”

“My wife. We were married last month, Abigail. And if you come near her again, I promise you, I will kill you. Is that clear?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You’re quick. I’m warning you. Leave. Me. Alone.” He hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, ignoring it as it rang immediately. He ignored it the entire way back to his car and as he pulled out of the parking deck and steered back toward his office, he knew exactly what he had to do next. 

Chapter Text

Theo sat in her car, staring up at the apartment building on the opposite side of Lescart Street. It was half-past six, the streetlights had come on probably an hour earlier, but no light showed through the windows on either of two upper floors. The flat on was completely dark. 

Ray wasn’t home.

Again.

It had been a busy couple of week for the both of them. She’d picked up two new clients to train, Fester had plenty of need for Ray as a paparazzi for hire, so they were both running crazy. They saw each other briefly in the morning, and managed to fall asleep almost around the same time every night. Other than that? They were the proverbial ships passing lately. And she missed him. 

With a low sigh, Theo climbed out of her car, moved to take her bag from the back seat, closed the door, set the alarm, and dashed across the street to avoid being run over by the rush hour traffic.

November had been a damp month so far, with rain almost every day, and she began to wonder if the sun was ever going to come back out. Although she’d been in England since the past spring, and her bouts of homesickness grew fewer and further between, today had not been a good one at all. Everything was cold. Damp. Gloomy. It suited her mood perfectly today of all days. 

Today, she turned fifty. 

Fifty.

A half century had gone by, mostly in the blink of an eye.

Fifty. 

She sighed softly as she let herself into the flat and hit the switch just inside the door. Donna had called her around noon, which was about seven in the morning in New Jersey, and sang Happy Birthday in her loud, very much off-key voice. But that was it. No one else knew it was her birthday, and she didn’t tell anyone. After all, she wasn’t dealing well with the fact that she was now, as of two in the afternoon, officially a half-century old. She really didn't want to think about it. 

The flat felt even quieter than usual. It was Tuesday, and normally, Ray would have a gaggle of pre-teen and teen boys and girls in his studio in the basement, where he taught photography on a part time basis. Before she’d met him, he’d won a Pulitzer for photos he’d taken in Iraq during the war, and since they’d been married, had almost taken a job with the Associated Press, but decided he’d rather do what he’d been doing all along—working with Fester and those kids. 

She set her bag on the floor by the sofa, and moved to set her keys in the dish on the breakfast bar that served as their kitchen and dining room table. The pipes rattled as the heat kicked on to take some of the damp chill from the air. Blackpool was on the ocean, but she was from Point Pleasant, which was also on the ocean, and so was used to the dampness for the most part. But today, everything felt magnified and she seemed to feel it more deeply than usual.

The bottle of chardonnay she’d opened yesterday was on the refrigerator door, just waiting for her, so she grabbed the wineglass from the drainboard and emptied the bottle into it. There was a little under half a glass. Why had she even bothered to put it in the fridge? Pointless.

It went down in one mouthful, and she sighed as she moved to the wine rack and selected another bottle. “How sad is this?” she muttered, setting it on the breakfast bar. 

Her phone rang, and when she dug it out of her bag and turned it over, Ray’s picture was on the screen. “Hey, where are you?”

“Sorry, love,” his deep voice rumbled over her the way it always did—smooth and elegant and enough to still give her chills, “I’m going to be a while. Fester has me waiting for someone at Madeline’s and I don’t know where the fuck they are, so I have no idea what time I’ll be getting home.”

Her stomach sank. “Oh. Okay. No problem.”

“Hey, why don’t you come on out and wait with me? It’s been a while since we’ve done this together.”

She heard the rain pattering again the windowpanes. “I don’t know, Ray. It was kind of a long day.”

“Come on. Let me buy you a drink and maybe you’ll get lucky.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe? Ray, all I have to do is show up to get lucky with you.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll get lucky. Throw an old guy bone, won’t you?”

“All right, you win.”

“Good. I’ll be the ass standing around outside with the camera.”

“I think I can manage to find you.”

Madeline’s was down near Pleasure Beach, and parking was at a premium. Rain still fell softly and Theo actually felt bad that Ray had to be out in this weather. True, it wasn’t quite as bad as some other elements he’d been in before, but waiting around for spoiled rich kids to show up and pretend they were more famous than they actually were could be just as demanding a job. He mostly did it because he and Fester were more friends than boss and employee. 

She sighed as she drew nearer to the building. Loud hair band music pulsed through the walls and the neon lights were reminiscent of the clubs from the eighties, where she’d gone as a teenager at the Jersey shore. She smiled as the deejay put on Def Leppard and the opening guitar riff of Photograph echoed from within. 

“There you are!” Ray shouted over the music as he strode down the sidewalk toward her. “I was wondering if you were standing me up, love.”

“When have I ever stood you up?”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He bent to kiss her, his lips soft as they swept against hers. 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” She slid her arms about his waist and gave him a squeeze. “Did your prey finally show up?”

He nodded before kissing her once more. “Yeah. About ten minutes ago. But, you’re here, so let’s go in and lose our hearing a little more. I owe you a drink, so…”

“Sounds good.”

His hand closed about hers, and she smiled as he linked their fingers and gave a gentle tug. He might have forgotten her birthday, but she’d make the best of it anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as if she looked forward to this one, anyway.

Still, it did hurt a little.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

It hurt. 

A lo— 

“Surprise!”

She jumped as the music ended and it seemed everyone she’d ever met leaped out at her. Black and gold balloons dropped from the ceiling as she rounded the corner into the main room, and everywhere she looked, banners and gold fives and zeros were strung about her. Fester, her coworkers, even Donna was there, smiling as she hurried over and threw her arms about Theo. “Happy Birthday, Thee!”

“Wait… You were in Jersey this morning. I talked to you and you were half asleep.”

“Nope. I was at the Edgemont Hotel when I talked to you and that’s what? Ten minutes from here?” Donna shook her head, her wild black curls bouncing in all directions. “I used my pretend to be sick to call outta work voice.”

“Venus!” Fester boomed, appearing as if from nowhere to wrap her in a massive bear hug. “Don’t be too mad at him, darling. He really just wanted to surprise you. Happy birthday, love.”

She gave him a squeeze. “Thank you. Is this why you’ve had him running like a fool all week?”

“Someone had to get this all set up. Do you know what it costs to rent an entire club for the night?” Fester straightened up and then punched Ray in the arm. “Even if you know the owner?”

“Ray,” she turned to find him trying hard not to smile, “what are you doing?”

“You thought I forgot, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, actually. I did. I spent all day thinking you just didn’t give a damn.”

He drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry, love. But, you should know by now I was not forgetting this birthday. I know how much you looked forward to it.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m not just any ass, baby, I’m your ass.”

She slid her arms about his waist and leaned away to peer up at him. “Ray.”

“What?” He draped his arms about her shoulders and bent to brush her lips with his. “I love you, Theo. Happy birthday, baby.”

Chapter Text

“It takes a leap of faith to get things going, in your heart you must trust.”

~Leap of Faith, Lucky Town, Bruce Springsteen, Columbia Records, 1992

“We should go away.”

Guy’s deep voice was so low a whisper in the darkness, it was barely audible, and as he spoke, he tightened his arm about you, tugging you back until you were flush against his chest. His skin was so warm, you were pretty sure you’d never have to worry about freezing in the winter as long as you had him to cuddle up to. You loved nights like this, snuggled in Guy’s arms as you drifted off to sleep. If there was such a thing as perfection, this was it, without a doubt, and it was hard to believe there was a time when you didn't think this could ever happen, when you didn't think being happy was something you’d ever feel where a man was concerned. You had no idea that love was right there, before your eyes, and you just needed to actually see it. 

Guy was your best friend and had been since what seemed like the beginning of time, but ever since he confessed to being in love with you, things had changed so much and for the better. The last six months had been the happiest of your life, and he played a huge role in that. Admitting your feelings for one another had been the biggest risk either of you had ever taken and you thanked whatever higher power was listening that you’d found the courage to take that leap of faith. 

Of course, the last few weeks had been insane. He was a cop, and had been pulling a ton of overtime lately. As it had been most nights over the last few weeks, you were asleep when he came home, deposited his gun, shield, and ID in their usual spot on your dresser, pulled off his boots, socks, jeans, and tee shirt (probably left them on the floor where he’d been standing at the time) and slid into bed to curve up against you. He never meant to wake you, but that was usually what happened, not that you minded.

“Go away?” You were still half-asleep and not at all sure you’d heard him right.

“Yeah.” He pressed a gentle kiss into the back of your hair, the hand on your stomach lightly sweeping back and forth against your bare skin. “I cleared it with my captain to have the weekend off, so let’s go somewhere. Vermont, maybe. Isn’t that where you wanted to go the last time we talked about going away?”

“Well, yeah, but that was to go skiing. It’s summer now.”

“So what? We need some time away from everyone and everything. I miss you, Angel. I feel like I never see you anymore and I know it’s because I’m working like crazy, but let’s just go.”

He’d called you Angel since you were fifteen years old, only now, you heard the love that he’d always woven into his name for you and you still wondered how you’d never heard it before he confessed his true feelings for you. Still, you smiled into the darkness as his arm tightened about you.

“Okay. Okay. Stop twisting my arm,” you said with a laugh as you carefully rolled in his arms to face him. In the soft glow of the television set (you’d fallen asleep watching SportsCenter) he looked wiped out, with dark smudges beneath his heavy-lidded blue eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a week, black stubble shadowing the lower half of his face. “Maybe we should just take the weekend and stay here.”

“No. I want to get away. If I’m here, someone will find me and fuck it up for us.” He shifted slightly and his lips brushed yours. “So, tomorrow, I figure if we leave around ten, we get there by mid-afternoon.”

“Get where?”

He offered up a sleepy smile. “I booked us into one of those B&Bs, in Tanner’s Peak.”

“What if I’d said I didn't want to go?”

“I’d be enjoying Tanner’s Peak by myself, I guess. But,” he brushed your lips once more, “I knew you wouldn’t say no. I know you, Angel. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

You smiled into the darkness, tucking your head against him and draped your arm about his hips. “I am a sucker for a good B&B and a road trip.”

He swept a kiss against your forehead. “I thought you might be.”

The Grenville was absolutely adorable and you felt all of the stress of a long week melt away as you set your purse on the small table by the French doors that opened up onto a small balcony.  You stepped out into the warm air, and took in the beauty of the Green Mountains all around you. You could only imagine how beautiful it would look in the autumn, when the leaves went red and orange and gold and the mountains would look as if they were on fire. But right now, everything was lush and free and although it was almost July, the air was comfortable, the breeze gentle and welcomed. “Look at this view!” 

Guy rolled your wheelies over by the armoire and came out onto the balcony to ease his arms about your waist. “A lot nicer than the city, I have to admit.”

“It’s just so gorgeous here. I could just stare at this all day.”

He gave you a squeeze and as you leaned back into him, he murmured, “I love you.”

You smiled. Six months and you still weren’t quite used to hearing him growl those words to you. You wonder if you would ever get used to hearing them, or if you even wanted to get used to it. There was something to be said about that delicious flutter that swept through you when he said them.

Tilting your head back, you peered up at him. “I love you, too, Guy.”

His smile was something to see. It lit up his face, lightened his eyes, and although he still looked wiped out, he was still the most handsome guy you’d ever seen. He bent to you, and when your lips met, his were soft and teasing, moving against yours slowly. His fingers curved about your cheeks, his thumbs grazing along them.

You parted your lips, your heart skipping a beat at the soft slide of his tongue along yours. Guy kissed like one who thoroughly enjoyed kissing. He kissed you slowly and leisurely, and when he drew away from you, his eyes had darkened to almost cobalt. 

You turned toward him, draping your arms about his neck. You had to stretch, as he was nearly a foot taller than you, but you didn't mind. He was worth a kink in the neck. 

He bent to you again, and this time, caught you behind your thighs to lift you easily. You curved against him, easing your legs around his waist as your lips met again. Your fingers found their way up into his wavy black hair, threading through where it curled over his collar.

Your stomach fluttered when he turned to bring you back into the room and your kiss deepened. His tongue tangled with yours, teased yours, drew yours back into the wet heat of his mouth. His fingers pressed gently into the muscle along the back of your legs as he pulled you harder against him. 

You let out a soft, breathless laugh around his kiss as he bent and pressed you down into the soft bed with its elegant canopy and spiraled posts. He rocked his hips into yours to send a sharp tingle rushing through you and that laugh became a sharp inhale. 

Guy broke the kiss to sweep his lips over your chin, down your neck, which sent a delicious chill down along your spine. His fingers curled in the hem of your tank top, and as he kissed his way down, he pushed it up. 

He pulled back, offering up the slightly crooked smirk that always threatened to melt you into a puddle of goo on the spot, and whisked the tank over your head, then bent back to kiss along the inner curve of your left breast. Sparks tingled all along your skin, radiating out from where his lips met your skin. To look at Guy Gisborne, one would never think him to be a gentle, tender man. He came across as cold and hard, and had good reason to fashion that persona for the rest of the world. However, the man he became with you was completely different. He allowed himself to let his guard down, let you see the man he kept hidden from the rest of the world, the one who whispered endearments as he made love to you and who cradled you in his arms when it was over. The man who let you see just how loving and gentle he could be. Moments such as these were ones that reminded you of how you’d made the right choice in telling him how you felt about him.

His large hands belied his gentle caresses as he slid one up to curve against the satiny bra cup. His fingers tightened about your breast, easing it from that cup, his thumb moving in a slow circle about your nipple to send those tingles rocketing through you again. Your back bowed of its own, pressing your breast deeper into his hand, which kneaded it until your head did a slow spin and your blood warmed by several degrees. 

Sunlight danced along the raven waves of his hair, which always seemed to be a week past needing a trim, as he kissed his way down between your breasts. You threaded your fingers through it, soft and cool and silky to the touch. At times, it frightened you, how deeply your feelings for this man ran. You’d been friends for so long, had been so afraid to jeopardize that friendship and it wasn’t until he confessed feelings for you that you had the guts to acknowledge your own for him.

Now, he’d become everything to you. 

He eased a hand beneath you, unhooked your bra and the smile he offered up was wicked and sinful as he rocked back to pull it from you. Then he was back, his lips tight about your nipple, his tongue teasing it slowly. Your eyes grew heavy lidded, your blood became smoke in your veins, your back bowed of its own once more as you whispered, “Guy…”

He caught your nipple between gentle, playful teeth, then released it to surge up and seize your lips once more. You gripped handfuls of his black tee shirt to yank up his back. He pulled away long enough to grab it by the back of the neck and pulled it free, then tossed it over his left shoulder. 

You drank in the sight of him, smooth and suntanned, the muscles in his shoulders bulging beneath his skin, just as the muscles did in his upper arms, and across his chest. You ached to touch him, to let your fingers roam over his smooth, hot skin. As he came back flush against you, you did just that. You dragged your fingernails up along his back, smiling against his lips as he shivered against you. Your tough-as-nails cop, shivering beneath your caresses. 

He moved back down along your chin, down your throat and between your breasts. Over your stomach. He unbuttoned your shorts with one hand, tugged then zipper down.

Whisked them off.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh as he kissed his way over the triangle of black lace over your mound. He hooked his thumbs in the lacy sides to draw the thong down, and you shoved a hand into his hair as he took his first slow, teasing taste of you. You couldn’t hold back your low moan as hot, spiky pleasure swirled through you with each lazy pass. He was gentle at first, just warmed you up as he brought you closer and closer the edge in a slow, delicious way that made your head spin. That made your blood sing. That made you whisper his name into air now scented with musk and sin. 

Your hips moved of their own, rolling slowly to meet him as the wave crested. He teased you. He tortured you. He made every nerve ending tingle and every pleasure center vibrate and as he brought you to the summit, he increased his speed, paid far more attention to your clit as he came hard against it, rough and amazing. Knots twisted deep inside you. Your core began the slow melt that would end with you yanking hard on the fistful of hair you clutched as you cried out, “Guy!” in a husky voice.

Pleasure flooded you, rendered you senseless and breathless as you reached the peak of nirvana. He brought you to the edge, shoved you over, and drove you almost completely mad as you came in a hot, shuddering, fiery flash. 

“Guy…” It was a cry in your mind, but a low, husky moan on your lips as you writhed and shuddered beneath him. He slowed down, eased the pressure, brought you back as gently as he knew how, and when he lifted his head, his look was one of utter satisfaction. 

You went limp beneath him, fighting for breath, for rational thought, and as he came back up to kiss you, you wrapped all around him, urged him onto his back, and proceeded to kiss your way down over his chest. Over his firm belly. 

His belt buckle put up a fight, but you won and when you tugged open his jeans, tugged down the waist of his boxer briefs, his hands sank into your hair as you freed him from the confines and drew him deep.

“Oh… Angel…” His fingers twisted in your hair, his hips arching toward you as you pulled gently, as you swirled your tongue along the length of his shaft, over the wide head, and flicked along beneath it. He thrust to meet each pull, your name a whispered moan as he breathed, “Oh, Christ… I want you…”

You released him with a soft pop and then crawled back up over him, positioned him, and came down to sheathe him a fluid, silken caress. You moved slowly, bracing your hands on his chest. His eyes were heavy lidded, almost sapphire with desire, and his voice was a husky growl. “Ride me… oh, yes… just like that…”

You slowed down, rising and falling to savor the fullness of him inside you. His eyes closed, a muscle bulged along his jaw, his fingers tightened on your thighs. Then, he opened his eyes, a wicked smile playing at his lips as he slid one hand into the shadows between your thighs, where he teased your clit with gentle fingers, whispering, “Faster, love…”

“Guy…” You came down harder against him, the fire taking root, your climax winding its way through you. 

“Oh, yes, squeeze me again…” His fingers moved about your clit faster now, with a bit more pressure. The tingles returned, burned through you as your body demanded you ride him harder now, faster, and make you both come.

You rocked faster now, came down onto him harder. He eased his hand from between your legs to grip your hips and moved you faster still. He arched hard to meet you, growling his pleasure as he seemed to grow harder still inside you. 

“Oh, yes…”

“Guy…”

“Angel…”

You shattered at the same time, each coming undone by the other. You threw your head back, surrendered to the moment, to the fiery, utterly delicious bliss ripping thorough you from Guy’s body into yours. Your fingernails dug into his chest. His fingers bit into your thighs. He arched hard. You squeezed.

It was heaven. 

Sheer, perfect, heaven.

He caught you, cradled you as you sank against him, fighting to breathe once more. His arms wrapped about you, his voice husky and breathless as he whispered, “I love you…”

“I—I love you, too,” you managed to breathe back, your eyes closing. His heart pounded like mad beneath your ear, his chest rising and falling in a rapid pace. His hand came to rest at the back of your head, his fingers gentle as they stroked along it. 

A comfortable silence fell and you were content to lay there, wrapped in his arms, until time itself ground to a halt.

Unfortunately, not only did it not grind to a halt, but it was now getting messy. 

Reluctantly, you eased off him and he smiled as you rose to pad into the bathroom, where you retrieved the two hand towels, passing one to him. After you cleaned up, he caught you by the hand to tug you back into his arms.

You snuggled against him, tucking your head against his chest. This was one of your favorite things about sex with him. He was a cuddler by nature, which surprised you at first, but now? Now, you knew you could lay there, your body entwined with his, forever. Again, the front he presented to the world was vastly different, so the first time you slept together, when he pulled you into his arms just like he did now, you were floored. He was far more romantic than any other man you’d ever dated. And even after all these months, it hadn’t changed. Somehow, you didn't think it ever would. 

He pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “Weekend is off to a good start.”

“It certainly is.”

“You know,” his fingers moved lightly along your hand, “I’ve been thinking, maybe we should move in together. I mean, I’m at your place more than I’m at my own, so…”

You craned your neck to gaze up at him. He needed to shave in the worst way, but you didn't mind it so much. It gave him a rough, dangerous look that you’d gotten quite fond of in recent weeks. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“I like this idea.”

“I thought you might.” He kissed the top of your head again. “There was something else I thought we should talk about as well.”

“What’s that?”

To your surprise, he pulled away from you and slid to the edge of the bed, where he stood and crossed over to his bag. You bit back a sigh at the sight of him. He was in such fine shape, just beautiful as far as guys went.

But when he turned, it wasn’t his physique that snatched your breath from your lungs (although it was, indeed beyond breathtaking, really.) Instead, it was the small, black box he held in one hand. 

“Guy?” You sat up, swallowing hard as he came back to stand alongside the bed. “What’re you doing?”

“We’ve known each other since we were what? Fourteen? Fifteen? And you’re the reason I’m still here, Angel. You know that, right? I’d have been lost without you and honestly? I wouldn’t have made it out of my teens alive if it weren’t for you.” His eyes were more serious than you’d ever seen them, holding yours as he went on, “You’re my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend and the best decision I ever made was finally having the balls to tell you how I feel about you.”

Your blood roared through your ears, your heart hammered so hard against your ribs that for a moment, you thought you might just pass out. Your mouth was dry, but your palms were damp. “Guy?”

He opened the box. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, sat a simple but beautiful ring—a solitaire diamond with pavé diamonds all along the sides. He lifted it from the velvet and held it out. You stared at first at it, then him, your eyes stinging as you swallowed to try to clear that roar from your ears. 

“I love you, Angel. I’ve loved you since we were just kids. So, why don’t we make us permanent?” He offered up that adorable smirk once more as he eased the ring onto your finger. “Will you marry me?”

“Guy…” Your voice failed you, emerging as a thin whisper. “Are you serious?”

“Do you think I’d joke about this?” 

“Well… no…”

“So, how about it? Will you make an honest man of me?”

You swallowed again and nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

He smiled then and leaned in to capture your lips with his. A laugh bubbled to your lips as he came up to press you back down into the bed. 

Chapter Text

A soft breeze wafted in through the open windows, making the white sheers flutter into the room. The sheers were new. Prior to your arrival in London, John had blinds up. Blinds that made the room seem more like a cave, dark and small and claustrophobic. Thank God he’d been amenable to swapping them out for the sheers. It was amazing how even just a hint of sunlight could make a world of difference. Already, the room was warmer, far more inviting. 

Home.

You tried hard to make sure he knew you weren’t planning on taking over and remodeling his entire apartment, but at the same time, it definitely needed a woman’s touch to a certain extent. He’d only been living as a bachelor for not even a year, and since he traveled extensively for work, interior decorating was hardly his strong suit. 

He was away now. Somewhere in Africa. You didn't know and he wouldn’t tell you. He would never tell you where a mission would take him aside from the most general generalities possible. You understood, even if you didn't always like it. You liked it even less since he was wounded on a mission three months earlier. The two of you had argued about his taking this latest assignment. You wanted him to rest a while longer, to let his shoulder heal more. He was itching to get back out in the field. You were both stubborn. Both had a bit of a temper. And when he left, you were each fuming at the other. Not a great way to part and you knew it. He’d called you twice over the span of the last six weeks, and you both apologized, but you still just wanted to see him. It was silly, but you knew that if you could just lay eyes upon him, all would be right. 

Besides, you missed him.

But, you’d taken the time to get to know your new home city. Your company had an office in London, and when you’d put in for the transfer, your boss begged you to not leave New York, only grudgingly giving in when he realized you had your mind made up. You had to come to London. You wanted to be with John. He’d asked you to move in with him while he recuperated, and so you’d been settling in day by day. In time, London would be as comfortable to you as New York had been.

John was due home sometime in the next forty-eight hours. Or so he hoped. You hoped so, too, because the day after tomorrow marked the first anniversary since the fateful cab ride that brought John Porter into your life. A year had passed since you fell headlong into first an affair, then a true relationship with him. Since that day, his daughter, Lexie had warmed to you. In fact, she was coming to spend the next week with you and John in London since, after their divorce became final, John’s ex-wife, Diane had moved out of the city. And while Diane was civil at best toward you, it was a far cry from your first meeting where she made ice queens look warm and fuzzy. 

You were putting new sheets on the bed when the phone rang and you smiled. His ringtone was Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir, which was his favorite song. You snatched the phone up from the nightstand. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”

“Were you now?” A hint of teasing wove into his deep, smooth voice. “Good things or bad?”

“Oh, very good.” You sank onto the edge of the bed. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Frankfurt, on my way home.”

You couldn't keep the smile off your face. “Really? I wasn’t expecting you home for two more days.”

“It didn’t take as long as we thought it would.”

“And you’re okay?”

A brief pause, then a sinful laugh rolled toward you. “I’m fine, love. Shoulder is a bit stiff, but nothing a few weeks away from reality won’t cure.”

You sighed softly. He’d been shot and wounded in Iraq over the winter and each time your eyes fell upon the scar, you worried for him all over again, even though to him, said scar was just another for his collection. You tried to push those worries out of your head now. He was on his way home now and he’d be fine. 

“So, how much of my flat have you renovated while I’ve been gone?”

“Not much at all. I just bought new sheets and a bedding set, but I think you’ll like them.”

“Tell me they aren’t girly.”

“No. Shades of blue from pacific to robin’s egg.”

“You say that as if those terms mean something to me.”

“You are such a guy.”

“And you’re complaining about it?”

“No. But yes.”

Another velvety laugh. “Okay, I’ve got to go. I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way home and I’ll see you soon.” He paused. “I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you, too, John. Stay safe.”

“Always. See you hopefully sometime tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.”

The worst part about John being on assignment were the nights. His apartment was noisy, with rattling pipes and city traffic and all, and while you’d grown used to those sounds, you didn't think you’d ever get used to sleeping in his bed by yourself. You missed him, missed the feel of his body against yours, as he usually held you against him as he slept. You missed the soft woodsy notes of his cologne, the faint hints of eucalyptus and mint from his shampoo and soap.

You missed him.

And the closer you got to his coming home, the longer those nights seemed to stretch on. 

Somehow, you managed to doze off, only to be awakened by the gentle flutter of your hair being swept away from the nape of your neck.

Soft lips grazed that same spot. 

A dull thud rent the air—the sound of a duffle bag hitting the floor. 

Then, the bed dipped and you offered up a sleepy smile as John whispered, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

He came gently against you, peppering the back of your neck with those fluttering, teasing kisses. Your fingers folded into the pillow tucked beneath your head, your toes curling as his lips crept higher, then down over your ear. 

“I though you were’t going to be home until tomorrow?”

“I managed an earlier flight.” 

He lifted off you to give you room to roll onto your back and when you gazed up at him, you did a mental melt at the sight of him in his desert fatigues. The night light offered up just enough soft light to make out the man looming above you. Your soldier.

He lowered against you once more and when his lips found yours, you wound your arms about his neck, let your fingers slip up into his short black hair, let them graze down over the back of his neck, smiling as he shivered against you.

His kiss was slow and sweet and teasing. Playful at first, but it quickly grew serious and deeper. Six weeks was a lifetime to be away from him, and apparently he felt the same, for as his tongue swept along yours, he slid a hand down to the hem of tee shirt you’d been sleeping in lately, and tugged it up. He pulled away and shifted to sweep it up and off you, and smiled as he whispered, “That used to be mine.”

“You can have it back,” you managed to murmur back, tugging him against you once more. Your fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, flicked them open as quickly as you could work them. He rocked back and onto his knees, and you shifted to rise with him, tugging the shirt from his back before catching the bottom of the sand-colored tee shirt he wore beneath it to pull it up as well.

The cotton schwiffed over his head, landing on the bed behind him. His hands curved about your cheeks, tilting your head just so, his tongue demanding as it swept along yours, tangled with yours, drew yours back. You savored his kiss, fiery and demanding and it alone was enough to make your body begin a slow, steady hum. 

You melted against him, easing your arms about his neck as you pressed your body flush against his. His skin was hot and smooth and as your nipples ground against his chest, you sighed into his mouth. 

He wrapped his arms about your waist, gently maneuvered you onto your back once more, and eased his hips between your thighs. The thick, heavy cotton of his trousers couldn't hide his erection, his cock a firm bulge against the front of them. You slid your hand over that rise, smiling as he groaned low. He arched to meet your caress, and when you slid just your thumb over that thick ridge, he whispered, “Holy fuck, I want you…”

You smiled, your lips still locked with his, and caught his belt buckle, unbuckled it, tugged open his trousers, and slid a hand down in search of him. You found him—hot, hard, sleek—and savored his sharp inhale as you offered up a long, slow caress. He shivered against you, rocked to meet you, his lips more demanding now as they devoured yours. 

“Oh… yes…” he breathed, sweeping a hot kiss along your neck before letting his head fall forward into the curve of your shoulder. “Six weeks is too long to be away from you…”

You traced along that thick length with just the tips of your fingers. “It’s too long to be away from you, as well…”

His smile was a mix of sin and seduction and he winked before bending toward you once more. He caught your nipple between playful lips, flicking the tip of his tongue over it as it tightened into a small bead. Your eyelids grew so heavy, but you refused to give in, wanted only to watch him, as if you were afraid he’d disappear if you couldn’t see him.

Because this felt every bit like the steamy, erotic dreams you had of him in his absence. Each fiery kiss, each playful caress brought you to the edge in your sleep, and then… oh… your thighs would press together and you’d arched hard into the bed as the sensations washed over you. You’d be on the very edge, and then wake up to find yourself alone.

But you were not alone. Thank god. He was there. This was no dream, but a delicious reality. 

John winked, letting your breast slip from his mouth. He swirled his tongue about your aching nipple once more, then rained teasing kisses down over your stomach. Your fingernails scratched along his back as he slid lower still, and he pressed a kiss above the triangle of pink lace that kept you hidden from his smoked sapphire stare. 

He pressed a kiss into that pink, lacy triangle, and when he looked up and you met his gaze, there was a fire in his eyes unlike any you’d ever seen before. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice husky and low.

You smiled. “I love you, too.”

He winked, then hooked his fingers in the lace. A gentle tug and you lifted your hips to allow the lace to skim along your legs and vanish into the darkness and you caught our bottom lip between your teeth at John’s soft, almost inaudible whimper. Six weeks was too long, indeed.

He bent to you, pressing a kiss into the damp curls between your thighs. Then, the tip of his tongue slipped into your folds, flittered ever so gently about your clit. An airy moan bubbled to your lips, your fingers found their way into his soft hair, your hips rolling toward him with each caress. Heat built within you, warm at first, but it grew scorching. It bubbled through your veins with each silken pass of his tongue. He slid up, then down, then around, and finally, over that sensitive bead that had been ignored for so long. 

“John…” You arched to meet him, clutching at the sheet beneath you with your free hand as the knits tightened deep within your core. Sparks became fire. Fire melted that core, spread that delicious warmth through your entire body as he slowly drew you to the edge. Everything inside you twisted and tightened, ached for his touch, whether it came from his lips, his tongue, his hands, or his cock. It didn't matter, as long as he touched you somehow. You would go completely insane if he didn't shove you over that edge soon.

You rolled to meet him, to increase the pressure of him against you. You had to, your body tingled hotly with the need to release, your climax tight and wound up and desperate to explode. He moved faster now, circled your clit more tightly, slid down to tease your entrance before gliding back up. You couldn't hold back your gasp as his lips closed about it and he pulled gently at it.

That one motion shattered you. Your back bowed sharply as the knots burst and white-hot pleasure scorched its way through your entire body. He teased and taunted with each delicious pulse between your thighs, his hands tightening about them to hold you still as you arched and writhed beneath him. 

“John!” Your cry rang out, your voice raw with passion and need and delight. He drew out your climax, drew out that bliss until you went limp beneath him—limp, fighting for air, your body heaving from the sweet nirvana of orgasm. 

He rose over you, and as he moved to cover you, you caught the waists of both his trousers and his boxer briefs to shove them down. He straighten to tug both off the rest of the way, and then he was back, and when his body aligned with yours, his cock slid into the damp heat of your folds, slick and smooth along your aching flesh.

“Love…” His voice was little more than a growl as he guided himself to you and pushed hard inside you. He breached you, stretched you, and you wrapped yourself around him, angling to take him deep with his first thrust.

He filled you, thrust hard, stole your breath once more. His fingers twisted into the sheet just above your shoulders as he moved, each stroke more powerful than the last. There were no lazy, leisurely thrusts to tease you both. He wasn’t gentle or tender, but took you like a man who’d been starved of you for far too long and it was amazing. Pure, powerful, unyielding lust drove him and you loved every second of it. It was so much like the first time you’d made love, hard and hot and exciting and every thrust tore through you, each sensation more delicious than the last. He pounded into you hard and fast and relentless, sweat rising along his back, his breath almost gasps themselves. 

You wrapped your legs about his hips and he grunted, a low,” Oh, holy fucking shit…” breaking free as he went deeper still. You tightened all around him, gripped him, greedily squeezed him to steal every last bit of him that you could. And with each one, the knots tightened. The pleasure sharpened. The tingles grew hotter and surged harder just as he did. 

Everything inside you rolled over. Pleasure hot and sweet flooded you once more. You pressed your thighs hard against him and offered up a breathless, “Harder, John… please…”

“Oh, baby…” He obliged, hammering away now as if his life depended on it. “Oh, squeeze me… tighter, baby… tighter…”

A muscle bulged along his jaw, His eyes closed. He shuddered against you. And then—

“OH!” He thrust deep, shuddering once more as he came in a violent eruption that had you clinging to him, your fingernails sinking into his back, your hips grinding up against his. You exploded around him, pulsing and throbbing as you surrendered to your own bliss once more.

The wave ebbed, the roar of your blood quieted and you fought to breath as he went still, his body relaxing as peace reigned. He gently sank against you, his head falling into the curve of your neck and shoulder, and his breath came in hot blasts against your already overheated skin. “Oh, darling… I’ve missed you…”

“I’ve missed you, too, John,” you whispered back, your lips brushing his ear. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he said with a soft laugh before sweeping a teasing kiss along your neck. “You probably didn't even think about me this entire time.”

“You know that’s not true.” 

He lifted his head, his blue eyes sleepy looking and soft. God, he was so handsome, your soldier. Handsome and brave and strong and you fell a little more in love with him every day. You let your fingers trace along his cheek, your hand curve against his sandpapery skin. “I’m glad you’re home, Sergeant Porter.”

“So am I.” He brushed your lips with his, then carefully eased off to stretch out alongside you. 

His release mingled with yours to trickle out of you, but you didn’t care. You didn't want to move. Wet spot be damned, you just wanted to lay there, entangled with him. “How long are you home for?”

He lifted an arm, draping it about you as you curved against him. “I don’t really know, actually. I never know. But hopefully for a few weeks.”

“Don’t remind me.” You sighed as your tucked your head against his chest and just listened to the solid thump of his heart beating. His fingers moved lightly along your arm, the gentle strokes making you even sleepier than you already were. You peered over at the clock. Ten after four in the morning. “What time did you get into London?”

“About three. By the time I got my way out, I caught the first hack I could find and here I am.”

“Here you are.” You lifted your head to smile down at him. “And that’s a good thing.”

He smiled. “I thought it might be. So, Tuesday, what do you want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”

“So, give it some thought.” He carefully eased away from you and rolled onto his side. “Hard to believe a year has passed since you gave me shit about trying to steal your cab.”

“You did try to steal it.”

“It was pouring out.”

“Still.” 

He smiled. “I did it intentionally, you know.”

“What?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I saw you and I thought you were cute. I knew if I was a total dick, you’d give me shit and it would give me an excuse to talk to you.”

“You were married.”

“Diane and I were already separated.”

“Still.”

“Okay, yes. Technically, I was still married, but it was over and we both knew it. And I saw you and… I don’t know… I can’t explain it. I just had to talk to you. So, I tried to steal your cab.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “And it worked.”

“You’re such a jerk. I can’t believe—no, actually, I can believe it. Ass.”

“So I’ve been told.” He propped his head on his fist. “But, not quite a day later, I had you naked up against that window, remember?”

Heat flooded you at the memory of you and John, high above the city, your body pressed against the cool plate glass as he thrust hard into you from behind. One of your more memorable encounters, to be sure. “How could I forget?”

“And now, here we are.” He leaned over and caught your lips in a tender kiss reminiscent of the first time he’d kissed you, in the hotel restaurant where you’d met for lunch that first time you were together. He was walking you out to catch a cab when he turned and just bent to press his lips to yours. That was it. That was all it took. 

“Here we are,” you whispered back. “And I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me, too, love.” His eyes sparkled despite that low light. “And I think we should go back to New York. I’d love to get you up against that window again.”

You smiled and sat up, then leaned over to brush his lips with yours. You slid to the edge of the bed and rose, saying, “We have a perfectly good window right here, you know.”

He just gazed at you, then a slow smile lifted the corners of his lips and without a word, he stood and as he reached where you stood, you melted into his arms once more. The glass was just as cool against your body as it was in New York, and you sighed as you surrendered to him once more, just as you had almost exactly a year ago. 

Chapter Text

It was the knee in the back that woke you from a sound sleep. Lucas let out a low, almost muffled moan as he thrashed about. “Oh… no… please…”

“Lucas?” You caught him by the should to shake him. “Lucas, hon, wake up.”

He jolted awake as if you’d screamed at him, breathless, face shining with sweat visible even in the low light offered by the bathroom nightlight. He buried his face in his hands, his gasps melting into something far more heartbreaking. 

“It’s all right, love. It was just a nightmare, is all,” you whispered, shifting to gather him in your arms, the same way he gathered your daughter in his whenever she had nightmares. You could only hope she hadn’t heard him and didn’t wake up. Getting a four year old back to sleep in the middle of the night could be a chore and a half.

He clung to you, and you held him as tightly as you dared, one hand moving over his dark hair, which poked in all directions in damp spikes. Little by little, he calmed against you, his breathing returning to normal as he just let you hold him.

“It was so real…” he whispered, horror woven through each word. “Oh, so fucking real…”

“I know.” You had no idea what he dreamed, as he never told you in great detail, but you knew it was tied to his past and the years he’d been imprisoned in Russia. He wouldn’t tell you what happened there, but you knew it had to be awful, judging by the way it haunted his sleep night after night. 

The dreams came in spurts. He’d be fine for weeks, sometimes months, but then they’d descend upon him like relentless vultures, stripping away at his peace of mind until you were sure he’d never know another night’s tranquility again. You’d tried to get him to see a therapist, to get help of some sort for his PTSD, but he refused, saying he could handle it. Sometimes you thought he’d done just that, but others?

“Daddy?”

You both looked toward the doorway. Your daughter, Olivia stood there, her long hair a tangle of raven-black curls about her cherubic face. Lucas pulled away from you. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, as he slid out of bed, pausing long enough to grab the pair of black sweatpants he'd left draped over the footboard earlier and tugged them on, then crossed over to her. “What are you doing up?”

“I heard you,” she said softly, rubbing one eye with her fist. 

“I’m so sorry I woke you, princess,” he told her, scooping her up to cradle her against him. “Let’s get you back to bed. Daddy is fine. He just had a bad dream, is all.”

“Lucas,” you eased to the edge of the bed, “I can—“

“I’ve got her, love,” he said, smiling at you over his shoulder. “We’ll pick a book and Daddy will read to you until you fall back to sleep, okay, princess?”

She nodded solemnly and you pressed your lips together at how she curved her hands against his stubbled cheeks. “Daddy, you look tired.”

“I’m fine, Livy. Let's get you back to bed, then, shall we?”

You didn’t argue, but sank back against his still-warm pillows as he carried Olivia from your room to her own just down the hallway. She had been a surprise, a welcomed one, but most definitely unexpected. It amazed you now to remember how you’d dreaded having to tell him then. 

You stared at the little plus sign in the test window. 

Pregnant. 

A few days later, you were in your gyno’s office, having the pregnancy confirmed via blood test. 

Pregnant. 

You met Lucas for dinner that night, your heart racing, your belly roiling like crazy, your head pounding from the stress, You’d never talked about children. You’d never even talked about marriage. Your relationship was a good one, but you were both happy with the way it had been.

Now… you were going to change his life forever.

You took a deep breath. “Lucas, I have something to tell you, and I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

His steel blue eyes took on a wary look you’d never seen before. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened. For a moment, he just stared as if you’d answered him in Klingon. Your mouth went so dry, swallowing was almost painful. Finally, after a few minutes of stunned silence, came his, “You’re what?”

“Pregnant. Almost nine weeks.”

He stared a moment longer. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’m positive.”

“We’re having a baby?”

You didn't miss his phrasing. You tried hold back your smile as you nodded. “Yeah... We’re having a baby.”

For the next seven months, he fussed over you, almost to the point of driving you totally crazy. In the delivery room, he was red-eyed, with a silly smile on his lips as he cut the cord right where the doctor directed, between the two clamps. Olivia Jade North had come into the world at four-twenty in the morning and weighed a whopping six-and-a-half pounds and you would never forget the look on Lucas' face when he held her in his arms for the first time.

A month after she was born, Lucas asked you to marry him. Less than a week later, you and Lucas went to the courthouse and made yourselves official. Mr. and Mrs. Lucas North.

And now, there you were. A family. 

You reached for your robe, drawing it on as you rose and padded from the room out into the hallway.

“Read Wizard, Daddy.”

“Again? Are you sure you don't want me to read something else?”

“Daddy! Wizard, please.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed and then you heard a book being eased from its shelf and knew he was pulled The Wizard of OZ from its spot on Olivia's bookshelf. It was her favorite book and her favorite movie and night after night, either you or Lucas read a chapter of it to her. And now, as you drew near her room, you smiled as she said, “Let’s skip to the good part, Daddy. When they get to the Emerald City.”

“That’s the good part for you?”

“Yes. I like when Dorothy is made pretty and the Tin Man is shiny.”

"But the flying monkeys are cool, too."

"Daddy," Olivia's voice was heavy with exasperation, "you like the flying monkeys. I like when Dorothy gets pretty again."

"Okay, okay," Lucas let out a sigh that was anything but exasperated, "you win, princess. Again. Emerald City it is.”

You paused at the doorway, not wanting to disturb or interrupt them. The only light came from the small lamp on the bedside table, and Lucas and Olivia lay curled together in her narrow bed, surrounded by her favorite stuffed animals.

With a soft sigh, you leaned against the doorjamb, watching as Olivia snuggled up against her father, his arm about her. He opened the book, flipped through to the part where Dorothy and her friends arrive at the Emerald City, and began reading, his deep voice calm and soothing. Olivia tucked her head against his chest, her thumb firmly in her mouth, her favorite stuffed puppy under one arm.  

The resemblance between father and daughter was almost breathtaking—same raven black hair, same piercing blue eyes, same sharp features. As he read, Olivia's eyes grew heavy-lidded and slowly slid shut, and you pressed your lips together as she let out a soft sigh while Lucas kept reading. 

You turned to go back to your room and were halfway to it when you heard the soft thud. As you came back and poked your head into Olivia's room, you smiled. The book lay on the floor alongside the bed, and both Olivia and Lucas were sound asleep.  

You came into the room without a sound and picked up the book to set on the bedside table, then moved to take hold of the pale pink fleece blanket bunched at their feet. You carefully drew it over both of them, pressed a gentle kiss into each forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams, loves.”

Chapter Text

The sun blazed down on you and Raymond as you stood in what had to be the slowest-moving line ever. Florida in August was not the happiest place on earth, no matter what the Mouse promised. 

Still, when you looked over at Raymond and saw him just gazing about at everything, just drinking it all in, you felt your annoyance fade a little. He was still adjusting to your time and DisneyWorld was nothing like the thirteenth-century, which was where he was from. So, for him, standing there, not really moving, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gave him the chance to observe, to see how everyday people in your time lived, the gadgets they used, the things they complained about—to him, these things were interesting to see and to hear. More than once, he’d expressed fascination as well as dismay with how people in your time conducted themselves day to day, and DisneyWorld was just a microcosm of twenty-first century daily life.

He turned away from the couple he’d been observing, each one oblivious to the other, their concentration focused on the cell phones each one held, and frowned. “Do the lines always move so slowly?”

His deep voice washed over you, and as the time went on, you found you understood  his English far better now than you had in the beginning. He still spoke with a heavy French accent, which at times made his English kind of amusing to you, but you’d adapted to hearing him, to understanding him despite that accent. The French he spoke was a little different from what you’d learned in high school, although you’d be the first to admit languages weren’t your strong suit, and you were learning that as well. And truth be told, there was something powerfully erotic about hearing him whisper to you in French when he made love to you, which made learning it a bit easier as well. You might not always understood what he said, but you certainly liked how he said it. And the blush that swept up from the edges of his dark beard when you asked him to translate his love words when the sex was over and you were lying quietly in his arms made it all worthwhile. There was something utterly adorable about seeing your fierce, thirteenth century knight blush at telling you he’d called you his beautiful flower in the throes of passion.  

You nodded. “You’ll see. This one is actually blazing along compared to some of the others.”

“Blazing?” Confusion clouded in his pale blue eyes. 

You smiled. “It’s moving fast compared to others.”

His dark brows rose. “Moving fast? This? I think not.”

“Trust me. It is.” You passed him the water you’d bought before getting into line. “Here. You look like you need it.”

He looked down at the bottle, already beaded with condensation. “But you were thirsty.”

“I’m fine. You need it more than I do.”

He shook his head. “No. You keep it. I’m fine.”

“Raymond… just take the water. I can get more if we need it.”

The line moved a bit closer to the actual ride. Pirates of the Caribbean. It was one of your favorites and you hoped he wasn’t too overwhelmed with everything. It was your first day in the park, and he’d already been a bit freaked out by the life-sized characters he’d seen wandering about, not to mention the frustration he’d had when It’s a Small World got stuck in his head and he learned the definition of earworm. 

You tried to play it cool, but you really were excited about sharing this with him. DisneyWorld was your favorite place to vacation, Pirates was one of your favorite rides, and you hoped he’d like it, that he’d fall in love with it just as much as you had. So far, the crowds seemed to be the only part he didn’t care for—not that it came as a surprise. More than once, he muttered something under his breath about wishing he hadn’t left his sword at home. He’d put up a fight about that, until you convinced him that not only would he not be allowed to bring a sword on a plane, but the TSA would probably have him arrested on the spot for trying. Probably not true, but better to let him think otherwise and leave the damn sword at home.

He sighed as he took the bottle and drained half of it in one swallow. “How much longer?”

“I have no idea.”

“Stay here.” He passed the bottle back to you. “I’ll find more water for us.”

“The vendor is right there,” you told him pointedly, gesturing to the kiosk near where the line for Pirates began. “Don’t wander off. I don’t want to lose you.”

He smiled and leaned over to brush your lips with a quick kiss. “I won’t become lost. I found my way from France to Ireland and back and without that GPS thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. You also got lost in Costco, remember?”

He scowled. “Everything looks the same in Costco.”

“But trees all look different?” You winked at him. “Just be careful.”

“Always, ma chêrie.”

You smiled, holding back your chuckle as he maneuvered his way out of line by simply stepping over the chains set up to shuttle you all through like cattle. By the time he returned, you’d moved all of ten feet. But, you were in the shade and that was what mattered, as it was far cooler under that awning. 

“And,” he pressed a fresh bottle of water into your hand, “I did not get lost.”

As he spoke, he draped his free arm about your neck and gave you a gentle squeeze, pressing you back into his chest. You sank against him for a brief moment, enjoyed the feel of his muscled body against yours, but then the heat and humidity reminded you why you hated August in Florida and you straightened up. 

Both bottles were empty by the time you were inside the building housing the ride and a few minutes later, you climbed into your car. The air was cool and damp from all the water flooding the ride, meant to recreate what being on the Caribbean ocean was like in the Golden Age of Piracy. Compared to outside, it was almost freezing. Especially with the fine layer of sweat misting your skin. You shivered, leaning your head against Raymond’s muscle-laden shoulder, smiling when he pressed a kiss into the top of your head and murmured, “Je t’aime, madame.”

You slipped your arm through his and squeezed as you began moving. He rarely said I love you in English and that was fine, since it sounded far prettier in French. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I do.” He jumped at the sound of a cannon being fired, then laughed as he said, “I think I prefer being on land to being a pirate.”

“Same. But, it’s cool in here, so there’s that.”

“True. I’m unaccustomed to this heat. It’s worse than at home.”

“A bit.” You smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “Home? My home or yours?”

“Yes, home. And both, I suppose, but I meant yours.”

You squeezed his arm again and settled against him to enjoy the ride. When it was over and you found yourselves in the gift shop. You turned to Raymond. “What did you think?”

He shrugged. “I like being in the dark with you.”

“That’s it?”

“It was… interesting…” He reached out to pluck a set of rubber manacles off a rack. “Perhaps we might find a use for these?”

You bit back a smile as a woman passing alongside him with a toddler shot him a look of disapproval. He saw it as well and grinned. “I think she finds fault with my sense of humor.”

“Now her son is going to ask her what you meant,” you told him, taking the manacles from him. “Besides, you’d tear these if I tried to slide them over your hands.”

“You go first, then.”

As he said it, he leaned over and kissed you. “And I know it seems like it meant nothing to me, but I did enjoy the ride. And I did enjoy being in the dark with you. Are there any other rides in the dark we could try?”

“Space Mountain. It’s a roller coaster. I think you’d like it.”

He nodded. “I like the sound of this so far.” 

You slipped your hand into his and made your way out of the shop. Raymond’s thumb grazed yours and then he brought your hand up to brush the back of it with a kiss. “And where is Space Mountain?”

“That’s in this park. And with any luck, the line won’t be too long.”

“Shall we go there, then?”

“If that’s what you want, that’s fine.”

He gave your hand a squeeze. “You’re very agreeable, you know.”

“It’s your first time here, so whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.”

“So,” he paused and moved to stand before you, “if I wanted you to marry me, you’d do it?”

You just stared up at him. “What?”

His eyes softened, a grin playing at his lips, and he rubbed along his bearded jaw with one hand. “Would you marry me?”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded slowly. “I would not ask if I wasn’t, you know. So, will you?”

You couldn't help your smile. “Raymond.”

“What?” He drew you into his arms, smiling down as he said, “Veux-tu m’épouser? Is that better? Shall I get down on one knee as we saw that man do near the entrance earlier?”

You shook your head. “No. The last thing I want is to be a spectacle. But, are you really asking me to marry you?”

“Love, how long have I been here? Almost a year now? Think you I’d ask if I wasn't really asking?”

“I know, but—” You just gazed up at him for a long moment, then smiled. “Of course I will.”

His arms tighten about your waist and he lifted you easily to meet his slow, leisurely kiss. As he lowered you, he whispered, “I have but one more question, love?”

“What’s that?”

“Do they have pizza here?”